Tenebris Lux
by Kaen Okami
Summary: When the Opera Populaire is restored and reopened after 16 years, Raoul and Christine's daughter and the adopted son of the Phantom meet and fall in love. Will they survive with their love intact, or will they be torn apart?
1. New

Erik knelt on one knee, on the rickety catwalk of the bare, empty stage, observing the once-glorious opera house, now a devastated, charred ruin thanks to the storm of fire that had blazed through it…on that night, seven years ago…and ravaged it terribly, quite beyond his original intentions. His intense black eyes, the shade of a moonless night, with only a scarcely perceptible trace of the dark fire they had once burned with, turned down from the peeling, weakened walls, whose intricate, lovely patterns he could only just identify behind the blackened, ashy burn marks and scanned the floor – if one could possibly call the layer of dust, rubble, and wreckage that now littered the immense and empty room a floor – noting every shattered bit of glass, every fragment of decorative gold, every vivid scarlet shred of fabric, every broken piece of the chandelier that had crashed down to the ground. He had cut that chandelier loose and let it fly to the ground merely as a desperate move to ensure the majority of the people would be trying to get away, not going after him. A distraction, one would call it. And it had worked, but only to an extent.

The well-to-do of the land who had come to watch the opera – _his_ opera, though they had been unaware of this, and likely still were- had panicked and fled in a frightened stampede. But the actors, actresses, and crew of the Opera Populaire had still come together into a furious mob of vigilantes, and, aching to see his blood spill, had hunted him down to his lair. They had not found him there. He had gone before they even got a glimpse of him. He'd slipped silently out of the opera house by the labyrinth of passages and chambers that were spread out in the underground of the opera house, whose ways he knew by heart, knew better than anyone else alive in the world.

He'd decided it was best to disappear for a time, until they were all positive he was gone. This he had done, and he had only returned home a few months ago, after Madame Antoinette Giry, the one person who truly knew him and the one person he fully considered a friend, had tracked him down and informed him it was safe to return, if he wished to. Erik had told her he'd consider it. And after a short while, he had realized he missed the only place he knew as home, and returned to the Opera Populaire with her.

He had come back to find his lair as destroyed as the rest of the place. But it was not physical fire that had done that, it was the fiery hatred of the mob that had finally discovered his hiding place, and then ransacked it beyond the point of recognition. Antoinette had been visibly distraught at the terrible sight, but Erik had assured her there was no need to worry. The underground river that led to the lair had a forked place in it, he had revealed to her, and the other route led to a series of chambers nearly identical to the ones that had been destroyed, and he intended to build a new lair in them. Once he had adopted the "Opera Ghost" persona, he had planned ahead for this kind of event. Well, not _exactly _this, but he had found it wise to always have a backup plan in case of failure. He had used various methods to seal off the main river route to this new place so it would be impossible to enter if one did not know how to enter another secret passage on the river. There was another entrance within the underground labyrinth, but again, if one did not know the tunnel system as well as Erik did, it would be nearly impossible to find.

The whole arrangement made for a fine new home for him, one that would not be so easy to ruin. The look on Antoinette's face as he had explained what he had done…The expression of great surprise, disbelief, and awe had been somewhat amusing to him. Though he had been able to grin a little at her then, to try and comfort her, he could not muster even a small smile at the memory now. He was too overcome by the utter mournfulness that had continued to eat away at his heart ever since that night. The night Christine had chosen…_him._ The Vicomte. Raoul, he remembered, that was the young man's name. That bastard…

"You took her away from me," Erik whispered fiercely, clearly seeing Raoul's handsome, unblemished face, glaring impudently, the expression a myriad of emotions, but none conflicting; every one of them could be traced back to his resentment of Erik. "You stole everything I had to live for." Even the little sound of his whispers ricocheted around the enormous, empty place in the faintest of echoes. Right now, he felt like expressing his own hatred of Raoul, even if Raoul himself was far away from here, unable to hear him, and probably enjoying life with his beautiful Christine. Perhaps it was better if he never saw Raoul or Christine again. The moment he laid eyes on Raoul, the man would find the Punjab lasso around his throat in two seconds and he'd be out of air in five.

And whatever Christine felt for him now, and he did not have any idea what that might be, would morph into pure, genuine hate. He realized that now that his mind was clear of desperation. That had been his undoing. Feelings of agonizing loneliness, intense passion for Christine, reckless fury for the man she'd chosen instead…It had led her to fear him, and eventually to leave him. She had seen Raoul as her sanctuary, someone who would protect her and care for her. _I can never give her what he can. Oh, Christine…_Erik's eyes closed and he lowered his head. _If I could only turn back time and do things differently…But even then, would I have won you? Would you love me? Could you ever love me? _ Frustrated again, Erik made his way down from the catwalk, heading for one of the numerous entrances to his subterranean home. But as he was passing a window, something made him stop.

Following the distressed noises, he went to the window and peered out. He saw four or five young men, ranging from fifteen to twenty years old, he estimated, who had surrounded a small figure in the manner of a pack of hunting predators. They laughed heartlessly – the laughter looking even more disturbing with their face contorted in hate - as they viciously tormented their victim: a much younger child, curled tightly in a ball on the ground in an attempt to shield himself from the blows and kicks. Erik had not left the opera house since his return, and looking back on the event afterwards, he wasn't sure what he would have done to help the boy or if he would have gone outside to help him at all; if the boy hadn't been wearing a thick mask of cloth wrapped around the left side of his face. An image of himself as a child flashed quickly in his mind; and the next few minutes went in a blur to him. One second he was at a door, the next second the boys were running off, yelling to each other and terrified at the sight of him, and the next he was crouching at the side of the shivering child. He lightly put a hand on the boy's shoulder, and the boy's head snapped to the side to look at him, and he shrank back in fear, terror showing plainly on what was visible of his face. "It's all right," Erik soothed, in what he hoped was a calming tone. "I won't hurt you."

He stepped back a little, showing the boy that he meant no harm. "I won't hurt you," he repeated. The boy's trembling lessened a bit, but he was still clearly frightened.

"My name is Erik. What's your name?" Erik asked the boy in the same tone. The boy hesitated a second before answering.

"L-Luc," he stammered.

"Are you okay?"

"I-I think so."

"Good."

The two stared at each other for a moment, each appraising the other. Erik saw that this boy Luc resembled him physically a little. His hair was black, but unlike Erik's hung over his face in a shaggy dark tangle, and his eyes, fearful and unsure of Erik still, were black as well. But the physical similarity seemed to stop there. The boy looked like he'd just been caught in the middle of a violent windstorm, and he was skinny and malnourished. Erik guessed that he lived on his own, on the streets. Erik noticed many scars on his arms, face, and torso; and everything in his stance, expression, and voice radiated fear and pain. He didn't have to be a genius to figure out another similarity he and Luc had. He wondered what impression he had made on the boy, and hoped he wasn't terrified of him.

"Who…Who are you?" Luc asked him, somewhat squeakily.

This time it was Erik's turn to hesitate. If Luc had heard the rumors of the Phantom that haunted this place, and he likely had, he would almost certainly be scared off too. He decided to take his chances and tell the truth. "Have you ever heard the stories of the Phantom of the Opera?"

To his surprise, Luc's face brightened a little at the realization of Erik's identity. "Yes, I have!" he said happily. His trembling had ceased entirely; in fact, he slipped a little closer to Erik. "You're the Phantom? And…this is your opera house?"

Erik was confused. "Yes. Why are you so happy to hear that, after hearing what they say about me?"

"Because I heard somebody say you made beautiful music, and that's the thing I love most in the world," Luc exclaimed.

"Is that so?" Erik said, surprised. "You aren't afraid of me, then?"

"Well…somewhat afraid. But… after hearing the stories, I thought you'd be like me. I thought we might be similar in some ways."

_The feeling is mutual, my young friend. _"From what I've seen and heard so far, I'd have to agree with you."

Erik thought over his words for a moment before he said them. "Why don't you come inside with me? Then we can talk."

"Okay," Luc said agreeably, getting to his feet after Erik. The boy apparently felt no fear towards Erik at all anymore. It seemed to him that Luc knew that Erik would be benevolent towards him. The same nervous eagerness Erik remembered from when he had first been freed from the gypsy caravan and came to live at the opera house he sensed again in Luc. _Perhaps we are alike._

**~0~**


	2. Not Anymore

Erik strode back into the opera house, leading Luc, who trotted at the edge of his cape. Behind him, he heard the boy gasp in surprise. Erik wondered whether he was surprised about the grandness that still shone out from behind the burn marks in the Opera Populaire or the destruction the fire had done to it. He found himself, for some reason, leading Luc into Box Five to speak with him.

"So, Luc," he began, stopping behind the seats and turning back to him. "What do you think?"

"I – I'm not sure," Luc said, looking around him. "I can tell this place was beautiful, but now…What happened?"

_Well, that's quite a long story. Let me think. How to put this?_ "There was…a fire here years ago."

He was surprised at the look of shock the words produced from Luc. His head had snapped immediately back around to stare at him with wide black eyes, and his hand had automatically gone to the masked side of his face. Had he said something wrong? Had he frightened the boy again?

"Fire?" Luc whispered.

"Yes," he said slowly. "It destroyed nearly everything." Erik hadn't detected much fear in the small voice. He wasn't scared; only a little stunned. Clearly the word 'fire' had evoked something in Luc. An unpleasant memory, perhaps?

"Everybody left this place alone when it was ruined and destroyed. It's abandoned now save for me," he finished.

"Why are you still here?"

"Because this place is my home, and I had nowhere else to go."

"You live…here? Under the opera house? Like the stories say?"

"Yes, that's correct. There's a network of underground chambers and tunnels that I use. There's even an underground river, and lake."

"Wow…" Luc breathed. "Do you like it there?"

"It's decent enough. Adequate for my needs. By the way, Luc…How old are you?"

"Er…Eight, I think."

_Antoinette found me when I was eight years old…Just how many things do this boy and I have in common?_

Erik decided he wanted to know more about Luc. Specifically, _his_ reason for wearing a mask over his face, as the boy had been eyeing Erik's with a thoughtful glint in his eyes. "Luc..." he began.

"Can you tell me…why you wear that mask?"

His question had brought the suspected reaction. Luc recoiled and started to tremble again, his hand clenching the cloth mask tightly. Erik felt a rush of sympathy for the boy. It had been as he thought. Something had happened to Luc's face just as it had happened to Erik. Whatever the "something" was that had made him like this. His thoughts broke off as Luc answered his question.

"M-m-my face…" he started to mutter, both his voice and body trembling. "It…" He looked up at Erik again; half frightened, half pleading. "It's evil, it's…it's terrible. That's what they said. It makes me a monster. It means I shouldn't be living, they told me. It means I'm…" Luc broke off in a small, strangled sob.

Erik sympathized instantly with Luc, remembering the things people had yelled at him from outside the cage when he was a child, and felt an overwhelming urge to comfort the boy. He placed his hand on Luc's shoulder again and made a shushing sound. "I don't think you are," he informed Luc.

The look of shock appeared again, and then disappeared into a look of bitter skepticism. "I don't believe it. You don't know what I am," Luc said ashamedly, turning away from Erik. He was becoming defensive again, shaking with fear and distress, pulling away from him. Apparently whatever the cloth wrapped around his head hid was a painful subject for Luc. Just as it was for Erik.

"Actually, Luc, I believe I have a good idea of what has happened to you," Erik told him. Luc didn't answer. "But to confirm my thoughts…" He took a deep breath before asking Luc to do something he knew would likely be very difficult for him, with the kind of life he suspected Luc to have. _But I would like to know if we're truly alike. Maybe there's something I can do to help him._

"I want you to take off your mask. Show me your face."

Luc's reaction was immediate. He leaped back from Erik, still clutching the hidden side of his face, terror etched into his face and the ghosts of painful memories in his huge, desperate midnight eyes. "No…" he said, panic in his voice. "No…my face…everyone who sees me…it…they've all hurt me…it's…I…it's only pain…all my life…nothing else…everyone's the same…they say I'm a monster…they hurt me…" Luc paused for a moment before composing himself somewhat. "Nobody's different. Everyone hurts me. This face only brings me pain. Loneliness. That's what's normal for people to do to me, my mother said. She said it's only natural for sane human beings to punish something so inhuman, for the crime of being a monster."

Luc's voice became full of hate and his expression became stony as he said those last words about his mother. _It seems I've found another similarity – he hates his mother just as much as I did, and she had the same loathing for him as mine had for me._ He came closer to Luc, kneeling in front of him.

"Where are your parents now?" he asked.

"My father died not long after I was born. I never knew him. My mother is dead too, rotting in hell where she belongs," Luc said, a snarl coming into his voice on the last few words.

"She said it's normal for people to hurt you for something that was not your fault?" Luc nodded, his expression still bitter as he remembered what his mother had told him.

"Well, let me tell you something, Luc," he continued, smiling. "I have _never _been normal." Luc looked puzzled, but Erik could sense realization dawning over the boy. He noted that Luc's eyes were still locked on his mask, and it looked to Erik like he was beginning to understand.

"You can trust me, Luc," he said, his smile disappearing. "Like I said before, I won't hurt you. I only want to find out if I'm right about you. You need not worry, you're safe here. You won't be harmed here." He paused for a moment. "I promise."

Luc still looked unsure, but he reached behind his head and slowly untied the cloth over his face, letting it fall to the ash-layered carpet, and then shut his eyes tight, so as not to see Erik's response. _I was right,_ Erik thought. _We _are_ the same._

One side of the boy's face was as twisted and distorted as Erik's was, and he could see more of the ugly scars of abuse slashing through it. Luc was cursed with the same deformity as him, but to Erik it looked so much more wrong and terrible in the young, vulnerable child, shunned and frightened by the pitiless world, and painfully alone in it. And Erik also saw something else: fierce-looking burn scars snaking over the malformed side of his face, as though a wave of flame had seared it. _So that's why Luc reacted the way he did when I told him about the fire here._ Erik's assessment cut short, however, when he saw the state Luc was in. Luc, acting on years of being abused and hated, Erik supposed; still had his eyes squeezed shut, was making tiny anxious whimpering noises, and his body was still shaking in fear and apprehension, shrinking back and tensing up as if expecting a hard blow. Based on what Erik had heard, that was likely just it.

"Luc?" he said softly, and Luc's right eye opened a little bit, then shut again quickly. He was still scared and confused. _He's probably never met anybody who was compassionate to him,_ Erik thought to himself, again remembering himself as a child. He knelt to Luc's level and gently placed his hand on Luc's shoulder again, in what he hoped to be a comforting way. Luc flinched, and then opened his eyes slowly, and, seeing the mild, benevolent look Erik was giving him, his trembling subsided. He still seemed confused though. "You don't…hate me now?" he asked.

"I promised you, didn't I?" Erik reminded him. "You're safe from harm. You are no monster, Luc. I don't hate you at all."

Luc had an incredulous look on his face. "But…why not? Everyone else, they hate me and chase me away as soon as they see what I am. You saw what those boys were doing to me before. They saw my face, and hated me and wanted to hurt me. Why didn't you?"

"Because I know what you feel when that happens to you. Because I am like you," Erik replied, and he removed the half-mask on his face, revealing his own horrid deformity to Luc. Luc's eyes grew even wider (it looked to Erik like they were bulging out of his head by now) and he let out a small gasp, though it was devoid of any horror. "We're the same," he breathed, stunned by the realization. "I-I can't believe it. I've never met anyone else like me."

"Neither have I. I always thought I was the only one with this…affliction. I never dreamed of finding someone who was the same as I am." Erik agreed, and he got to his feet.

"Luc…" Erik thought out his next words carefully, having made his decision about how to help the boy. "You don't want to go back out and live on your own again, do you?"

Luc shook his head. "No, I don't. I hate it, always being so lonely and so isolated from everyone else. But what else is there for me?" he asked Erik.

"You could stay here with me," Erik offered. He had taken a liking to the boy, and they were so much alike. He wanted to show this boy what affection and compassion were for the first time, like Antoinette had shown him so many years before. "If you wanted to."

Luc's jaw dropped. Erik had not thought it possible for his eyes to get any wider, but they did. His expression was a mixture of utter surprise and wild hope and elation. "Do you mean it?" he asked.

"Yes. You can have a home with me. I'll keep you safe. No one will harm you, as long as I'm here."

"I…" Luc seemed at a loss for words. "I'd like that."

"Also," Erik said. "You told me you loved music more than anything else in the world?" Luc nodded vigorously. "That's something else we share," he said.

Luc smiled brightly. "Could you teach me?" he asked.

"Teach you?"

"Teach me how to make the same music that you do. I want to do that."

Erik smiled, his first true smile ever since Christine had left him. "Of course I can teach you." _I'm quite experienced in that field._

"Come with me now," Erik said. "I want to show you where I live."

~0~

Luc stayed close to Erik as he took him further into the opera house. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the boy's head sharply jerking around every which way; trying to take in all the new and unfamiliar sights the abandoned Opera Populaire had to offer. There were numerous hidden entrances to his lair strewn around the opera house, but strangely, Erik found himself wanting to use the one he had not used ever since the desertion of the opera house for fear of painful memories of Christine returning to plague him. He heard Luc suck in a sharp intake of breath of surprise as he slid back the mirror in Christine's former dressing room. Sure enough, memories of the night he had first emerged from the shadows and revealed himself to her floated up from his subconscious, and he forced them down with a considerable amount of effort as the pangs of agony at her loss seared his heart yet again.

But then he looked back at Luc. This boy he felt a strange kinship with, and who accepted and trusted him with barely a doubt and considered Erik his friend and guardian. Luc looked back at him, and he saw the glimmer of hope and friendship in the eyes that mirrored his. And the pain was assuaged by the knowledge that neither Erik nor Luc was alone anymore.

**~0~**


	3. Down Once Again

_Nine Years Later…_

"We should not be here. We should not have come," Raoul kept saying; yet he had made no move to stop Christine as she headed down the hallways of the opera house, and he reluctantly accompanied her back here, on the grounds that he could not and would not let her go alone and with no protection. She knew he was right, this was not their place, but the compulsion to come back was too strong to resist. It had felt like something she needed to do.

The question of just what had happened to her Angel of Music in the sixteen years since she had last seen him – betrayed and abandoned by her, his heart shattered beyond repair by her; her conscience always lashing her with the guilt of leaving him that way whenever she thought of him – was a question that gnawed at her whenever she let her mind wander and inevitably drift back to him, that she had worried about for years.

Just what had happened to him? If he still lived, did he live in agony from her desertion of him? If he had died, how had he died, and was it all her fault? She could never escape the thoughts and memories of him that plagued her, and in that, she had come to understand, he would never leave her.

Raoul knew. He knew that she could never forget the Phantom and as such would never completely stop thinking of him, remembering him. But he understood and accepted this, and he didn't worry too much and he never doubted her love for him. She found solace in the fact that he trusted her, because there was nothing to doubt. She did truly love him and would not leave him for anything; the only person in her life that she possibly cared about more than him was her daughter. But the reason he didn't worry was because he was under the impression that she only thought of the Phantom in passing, and wondered about his fate only when there was nothing else to occupy her mind. He didn't know just how much her strange angel occupied her thoughts.

Their daughter, Alia de Chagny, knew nothing at all. Oh, she was aware that both her parents had been involved with the Opera Populaire, and she had heard the tales people told of the Phantom of the Opera. But Christine sometimes had to wonder if sixteen-year-old Alia did somehow know of her parents' connection to the Phantom, since whenever anyone mentioned him – not mentioning either Raoul or Christine, of course, Raoul was determined that Alia would not know the truth and had taken various measures to make sure of this - she became removed from talk and looked to be deep in pensive thought; as though she were wondering what to make of the stories and their main character, deciding whether he was the villain or the antihero.

It was mainly for Alia's sake that Raoul had agreed to return here with her. He had never allowed her to before, out of concern for her safety, and his fear that if the Phantom should enter their lives once more, he would lose her forever. But since the Opera Populaire was going to be restored and reopened soon, she had been able to convince him that it was imperative to find out if he was still there, or even still alive, to ensure that their disaster would not be repeated, and endanger others. She had only to remind Raoul that this included Alia and to suggest that returning here beforehand would ensure her safety; and he did not need much more convincing once she had taken advantage of his tendency to be overprotective of his only child.

The reminiscence of the first time she had seen the Phantom in person rushed back into her mind as she opened the door of her old dressing room. Her movements slowed as those memories swirled in her head, almost like a dream. At first glance it appeared that nothing had been touched since she had last been in here. It all looked the same as she remembered, albeit much dustier and neglected. Something on the table caught her eye. The most vivid, even blanketed by dust and faded with age, of all the dying flowers in the room. A red rose, adorned with a black ribbon. His rose.

_Angel of music, guide and guardian. Grant to me your glory…_

"Christine." Raoul's voice had taken on a different tone, and she turned to him to see what had caused it. He was looking at the floor with a grim expression. "I think you may have been right. He may still be here."

"What makes you think so?"

"Look at the mirror." Raoul gestured at the floor nearest it first. "Notice how the dust is disturbed around the floor by the mirror, even though neither of us went near it. And if that's not enough proof, look at that." He then pointed to the mirror itself. "Do you see the smudges in the dust on the left side of the mirror? The side you have to pull to open it?"

Christine studied the dirtied glass, and recognized the shapes in the dust. "Handprints," she realized.

"Yes" Raoul confirmed. "And it looks to me like some of them are older, and some are newer, than others. I think someone has been using that door for a while, and recently too."

"So he's still here. He's alive." She hurried to the mirror, slid it open, and hesitated for only a moment before beginning the journey through the Phantom's underground labyrinth; the place her dreams always seemed to lead her one way or another.

_Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel…_

"Or it could be someone else," Raoul said, voicing his own desperate hope. She heard him give an exasperated sigh before following after her, muttering to himself. "It _could_ not be him, couldn't it…please let it be someone else…why did I leave my sword…not him… he's going to kill me…Oh, why did I let her bring me back here?"

He kept saying things like this, but he still followed her dutifully through the passages. She didn't pay attention to most of his mumbling; she just kept going deeper into his lair. She knew where to go; the first time he had taken her down to his home was burned into her memory from the countless times she had replayed it in her mind. These memories all flew into her mind at once, blurring into each other and each one passing quickly through her head, being replaced by another one in less than a second. She barely comprehended where her feet were taking her in the rush of nostalgia. She didn't know how far she'd gone when Raoul put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her and turning her around to face him.

"Christine," he said. "I think we should turn back."

_Turn back? No!_ "Raoul, you know we can't do that."

"I know, I know, but the farther down we go, the more apprehensive I get. It's like there's a fog of dread hanging over me, and the feeling is only getting stronger. I can't get rid of the feeling that something is going to happen…like a bad premonition. And also," he added, looking around as though trying to detect a faint presence in the air around him. "Ever since I set foot in here, I've felt like we're being watched. Like there's someone following us."

"Raoul, that's ridicu– "

"Hello."

They both jumped in fright at the sudden greeting, and whipped around to face whoever had spoken. The owner of the soft, courteous voice turned out to be a young man - a boy really - who was leaning against the stone wall and observing them with an expression that, Christine was relieved to see, contained no trace of hostility. He looked merely curious about finding somebody else down here, a feeling she reflected. It looked to Christine that he was also amused at their shock at the realization that somebody _had_ been watching them.

She had never seen him before in her life, she was certain, but he looked somehow familiar. He was clothed in all black, and he was well-built, with palish skin that seemed even paler against the darkness of his clothes, eyes, and hair. His hair was short and dark navy-black, rose slightly over his head, and reached to the beginnings of his neck. His eyes were even darker, and had the peculiar look of a flame glowing just behind them, which could be soft as candlelight in a peaceable mood and blazing like wildfire in anger. He looked around Alia's age; and at first glance was youthfully handsome, his appearance affably roguish and his features faintly lupine.

But what attracted Christine's attention the most was the black half-mask the boy wore on one side of his face, which only strengthened the feeling of familiarity.

Raoul was the first to shake off his surprise. "Who are you?"

The boy laughed softly and shook his head. "Seeing as this is my home, I think it would be more polite for you to tell me who you are, or better yet, what you're doing here?"

Christine and Raoul exchanged a brief glance before Christine answered. "The Phantom…We came because we want to see him."

"Speak for yourself," Raoul murmured under his breath.

The boy's eyebrows went up slightly, and his expression was one of mild surprise. "You came looking for my brother?"

They voiced their further surprise at the boy's words simultaneously.

"Brother?"

"Your _brother?_"

Now it was the boy's turn to look confused and a little bit wary. "Yes, he's my older brother. Do you know him?"

Another glance was exchanged between Raoul and Christine. _At least I know he's alive!_ "Yes, we know him. And he knows us. Like I said, we want to see him."

The boy's dark eyes narrowed, and his formerly affable demeanor turned menacing. "You aren't here to hurt him, are you?" he demanded angrily. His hand dropped to his side, and Christine saw the light from the candles mounted on the wall glint off metal there. She guessed there was a sword or some other weapon held in place there. "Because, believe me, he's had enough of that," the boy snarled, prepared to fight if he thought they were a threat.

"No!" Christine quickly assured him, as the less pleasant memories of the Phantom rose up to fight for dominance in her mind. "No. We just want to talk with him, that's all."

The boy didn't readily accept this answer. He glared at Christine and Raoul for a few moments more, studying them, appraising them, deliberating whether he could believe them. Then he apparently decided to trust them for the moment, and he relaxed his body and expression.

"All right," he said. He was still regarding them and judging them, though; Christine could see that in the way his eyes skipped from Raoul to Christine and back, never taking them off either of them for more than a few seconds and never losing their intensity. He detached himself from the wall and approached them. As he passed them, she saw she had been right – a gleaming, slender, sharp-edged rapier rode his left hip.

"Come with me, I will take you to him. But," he added, taking on the same threatening attitude as before. "I make it a point to take revenge on those who hurt my brother. If you have lied to me, and came here wishing harm on my brother and I, you won't even live to regret it."

He maintained this posture and expression, though to a lesser extent, as he walked by them. Christine noted that it was directed more towards Raoul than her; the boy probably thought him more of a danger than her. _Ironic_, she thought grimly, _seeing as I'm the one who hurt the Phantom the most._

The boy led Raoul and Christine down the passageways at a slower pace than she had been hurrying down them. She was anxious to see the Phantom again, knowing now that he was alive and hopefully not hurting as much as he had been when she had left him, and the gentler speed vexed her slightly, but she decided this place was more familiar to this strange boy than to her. It would likely be safer following him than running around on her own.

Raoul, having already earned the enmity of the Phantom, apparently did not want this boy to hate him as well and did not want someone clearly close to the Phantom as his enemy. So he tried to act friendly to him, and after a few minutes of following him in silence attempted to make conversation.

"Do you live down here?" he offered.

"_Oui_. Ever since I was a child."

He spoke coolly and didn't turn around, but spoke in a reasonably amiable manner. He seemed to trust them to an extent, and was polite and friendly enough. She had to admit, he didn't seem too bad. Christine supposed that his threatening actions were only meant as a clear, fair warning of what would happen if their intentions were not as good as they had said.

"How did you get to be here?"

"When my parents died when I was a child, I was forced to live on my own." The boy's voice had turned somber, with the shadow of pain in it. "I was homeless, orphaned. I was suffering and utterly alone for an unbearably long time until my brother found me. He took me in and I've stayed here with him ever since."

They had reached the underground river. The boy picked up the oar lying on the side of the passage and gestured for Raoul and Christine to enter the waiting boat, which the latter did with the memories of her previous ride on this particular boat floating through her mind. As the boy rowed them along the river, Raoul continued his questioning.

"Do you…like living with him? The Phantom?"

"_Très beaucoup_ – very much. I have never been more content."

Raoul looked so bewildered at this answer that Christine would have laughed, if that answer hadn't made the guilt slice her heart yet again. Besides, she wouldn't want the boy to take offense at their reaction.

"Well…" Raoul fumbled around in his head for a response. And what he ended up blurting out was, "Why?"

Christine brought her hand to her forehead and sighed in incredulity at Raoul's tactless words.

The boy hesitated a moment before answering. Christine glanced at his face quickly and saw that he was frowning. He didn't look upset, though; just a little puzzled at why Raoul would ask such a question. After a moment of tense silence, the boy answered.

"He is the only one I can remember who has ever cared for me, and shown me affection. If it weren't for him, I'd still be an outcast, and I'd still be suffering all day, every day, and I'd still be a timid little coward who was always scared and alone." The boy's voice had a bitter edge to it as he described his past self, sounding slightly disgusted with what he had once been. "My brother taught me not to be afraid anymore." The boy's voice had lowered and he sounded like he was talking half to himself.

"What is it like? Living with him?" Raoul looked at Christine, surprised at her quiet question.

"He is no monster, no matter what they say," the boy said with finality and sureness. "They are all wrong about him. Ever since he took me in, for the first time in my life I've been happy. My brother is the only real family I've ever had. He protects me. He takes care of me. We look out for each other. He's taken me under his wing and taught me _everything_."

"Everything?" Christine wondered if the vague term had not been enough for Raoul, or if he feared that this boy was a killer, trained by the Phantom himself. "Like what?"

"Everything he knows. Such as how to ride a horse, how to read and write in English, French, and a bit of Latin, and how to effectively defend myself, for example." Raoul gulped, albeit barely audibly, at the last lesson the Phantom had taught the boy, apparently interpreting it as 'how to kill a Vicomte.'

"But there is one thing he taught me that I believe I value most."

"And what might that be?" Raoul cut in before the boy could finish his sentence. The closer they got to the Phantom's lair, the jumpier he acted.

"His music," the boy began, but didn't elaborate due to the fact that the melodious strains of organ music had reached his ears. He smiled. Raoul froze. Christine shivered in anticipation. "We're close," she whispered to herself, the music that washed over her making her spirit soar once again.


	4. Reunion and Negotiation

The boy seemed just as eager to reach the lair and join the Phantom as Christine was. But he slowed the boat, telling them he did not like to interrupt his brother when he was playing his music. (Raoul seemed perfectly fine with taking their time.) When he reached the gate, she climbed out of the boat quickly but silently – responding to the finger the boy raised to his lips – and stepped onto the stone floor where the edge of the river died away. Raoul stayed as close to her as her shadow and did not leave her side for a second. His protectiveness was going to reach a peak once they got in, she saw, and sighed.

Then she looked up, and saw her angel for the first time in sixteen years.

He didn't notice her yet. His back was to her, his eyes were half-closed, and he was absorbed in the music he was playing. It was a powerful melody, but not harsh, the passion it conveyed only thinly veiled by wistfulness. He didn't even look up when the boy opened the gate, which rose slowly with a low grinding noise. She immersed herself in the music as well, only barely aware of Raoul's protective arms around her shoulders. The boy had stopped to listen too; leaning against the wall, with his head back and his arms crossed over his chest, the same way they had met him. He watched and listened more intently than she was doing, Christine noticed. It was as if he didn't want to merely enjoy the music, but wished to absorb it, learn from it. That was likely true, as Christine had come to the conclusion that this boy was the Phantom's new young protégé.

They stayed that way for a while, silent, each feeling something different about the Phantom's music, until it ended. The boy applauded briefly, and then strode up to the organ. Suddenly, seeing the two side by side, Christine realized why the boy had looked familiar to her – he and the Phantom looked incredibly similar.

"Big brother!" he said earnestly. "We've got visitors."

The Phantom turned to him, visibly confused. "Visitors? _Jeune loup,_ what do you mean?"

"They said they know you and they wanted to see you," the boy explained. But even as he was speaking the Phantom turned around and saw them, and needed no explanation. He was frozen, with an expression of utter shock, as if somebody had kicked him in the stomach hard and without warning. She saw his mouth form her name, speechless with surprise. Then his wide dark eyes locked onto Raoul's stony azure ones. "And you," he said neutrally, recovering. He stood up and took a few steps in their direction.

"Why did you come back here?" he all but whispered.

"So they do know each other," the boy said to himself, cocking his head sideways. "But I get the feeling it's not so friendly. Big brother," he began, louder.

"_Tranquillité,_ Luc," the Phantom stopped him. "You'll understand soon, I promise. But there's nothing to worry about." He looked at Raoul again with narrowed eyes. "Is there?"

Raoul glared. Christine spoke up. "No. I just wanted to talk with you and…" She hesitated. "I wanted to see you again. I've been tormenting myself again and again over what I did to you, and I've been worrying for so long over what happened to you when I was gone. I know it's coming too little, too late but I just…wanted to apologize for what I did. Since I didn't when I should have…" She looked up at him, unsure of how to address him. "I'm sorry, I don't know your real name."

He smiled a little. "Erik," he told her. "My name is Erik. And this is Luc," he added, gesturing to the boy at his side, who was studying the pair before him and reevaluating them again and again with each word exchanged, quite unsure what to make of them. Christine didn't think he thought very highly of them at the moment, though, from his expression; and he was growing anxious and worried despite his brother's assurance that nothing was wrong.

"That's mainly why she's here," Raoul said before Erik could respond to her apology. "But I'm here for a different reason." He stepped in front of her.

"Oh, really, Vicomte?" Erik said sarcastically. "You're here to play the dashing hero again? Making sure I don't steal your lover away from you?" He laughed bitterly. "Idiotic fop." Raoul continued to glare.

"I didn't want her to come alone, true," Raoul admitted. "But I am not afraid of you."

"Are you quite sure of that?"

Raoul snarled at Erik; and opened his mouth to snap back at him as he stepped forward confrontationally, intending to challenge him, when Christine pushed him back. "No! I told you, we didn't come here to fight! Don't fight him!"

"Hah," Luc said, his eyes narrowing at Raoul. "I'd listen to her if I were you. If you did challenge Erik, I'd fight with him and we'd outnumber you. You don't have a chance against us. So take her advice and back down. She seems smarter than you anyway." He turned to Erik and spoke again before Raoul could retort. "Brother, who are they? They seem vaguely familiar, from the stories you've told me of your past. But I can't seem to figure them out."

Erik sighed resignedly, unable to keep their identities from Luc any longer. "You remember I told you exactly why this place was abandoned?"

"Yes, but I…" The words sparked recognition in Luc's eyes and his expression turned from mild curiosity into stunned realization. His eyes turned to her, then to Raoul, and he mouthed their names like his brother had done as the recognition sank in. He looked quickly from Erik, to them, and back again. Then he made up his mind about what to think of them, and his expression contorted into a look of incensed hatred. Whatever Erik had told him about them, he did not like it at all. He started to stride, enraged and bellicose, towards them, his hand going to his sword, and Christine remembered his earlier words. "_You aren't here to hurt him, are you? Because, believe me, he's had enough of that." "I make it a point to take revenge on those who hurt my brother."_

Luc opened his mouth, ready to vehemently throw what they had done to Erik back at them, and started to draw his sword, likely to challenge Raoul to fight in order to avenge his brother's pain. Christine moved back, afraid. Raoul stepped in front of her to meet the furious Luc, dropping his hand automatically to his side for his own sword and cursing under his breath when he remembered he had left it.

"You - ah!" Luc started to hiss at them, and was cut off suddenly. Erik had grabbed him by the upper arm and jerked him back. "No, you don't."

Luc was bewildered, and tried experimentally to jerk loose. Erik did not loosen his grip. "Let me go, Erik!" he protested. Erik did not let him go. "You will _not_ do anything rash, Luc," he ordered.

Still confused, Luc kept trying to escape his brother's hand, but only halfheartedly. "But brother, don't you want –"

"No, Luc," Erik wearily cut him off again. "I don't want revenge, you do. I don't." He looked quickly at Raoul, then at Christine, then back to Luc. He shook his head. "I don't," he repeated, relaxing his grip on Luc. Luc pulled free and bolted to the other side of the room, evidently not wanting to be restrained by his brother again. He leaned against the wall once more, tense and prepared for battle. He glared fiercely around the room again, and then sighed, accepting defeat.

"All right, but I don't like this," he said. He resumed glaring at them, but Christine thought she saw him evaluating them again, now that he knew who they were; basing his judgments on everything Erik had told him about them and what he saw from them now, each word, each expression, and each action. Drawing new conclusions.

"So what are you really here for?" he demanded of them. Christine turned away from him, not willing to face the knowledge that the anger he had for her and for Raoul was right and rational, and addressed Erik instead.

"The Opera Populaire is going to be restored and go into business again." She heard Luc give a gasp of surprise, and Erik's eyebrows rose. "We had to know if you still remained here."

"For the safety of everyone working and residing here," Raoul said. "There are those who were here before, and there are also new people coming to work and perform, not counting the workers in charge of rebuilding the place."

"I see," Erik said. "You want to know that Luc and I won't cause any trouble."

"And that you won't go on another killing spree and burn the place down again."

"Raoul!"

Erik laughed at the way Christine chastised Raoul, and outwardly did not seem affected by the callous words. Luc didn't seem to know what to do, so he stayed put and stayed silent. "Very well," Erik said. "You have my word that I will not deliberately harm anyone here."

Raoul was surprised that Erik's agreement came so easily. "Really?" he blurted out. Again, Christine sighed and brought her fingers to her forehead in amazement of how tactless Raoul could be at times.

"Under some conditions."

"Oh, of course."

"You remember that it was those hopeless managers refusing to pay my salary that caused me to be angry at them and forced me to try and convince them that it was unwise to do so?"

Raoul and Christine both nodded, the former somewhat reluctantly.

"My relationship with the former manager went well, because he did as I asked. I would have left Andre and Firmin in peace if only they had listened to me."

"I remember you telling me about those two." Luc said. "You said they were complete and utter imbeciles who didn't know the first thing about opera or even music in general, coming from the junk business like they did, and that they should have stayed in that business. You said it suited them." Most of that sounded like a pretty accurate description to Christine. And it made her wonder how Erik had described her and Raoul to Luc.

"I said that because it was true. Now, are they the ones who will be in charge of my opera house again? Andre and Firmin?"

"Yes, they've decided to give the theater business another try. Apparently the allure of the fame and fortune to be gained from it was too great for them to resist."

"Audacious of them," Erik remarked.

"They only made the decision to do so because they thought you were dead…I am not sure how the knowledge that you are still living would affect that decision."

"If they decide to stay on as managers, then you have my first condition: That they swallow their pride and deflate their heads and their egos, and listen to me and do what I tell them to do."

"Well," Raoul began slowly. He looked at Christine and she gave him a look that told him to just say what he was thinking. "I must admit, you do know more than they do." Erik looked mildly pleased with this, but not much due to the acid in Raoul's speech. "And…I'll try to convince them to listen to you. Should I say you had the power to get this place abandoned, so you could have the power to make it the most popular place in Paris as well? Or should I think of something better to say? Something that would suit you better? Perhaps something like -"

"No, that will do perfectly," Erik said, his voice dangerously quiet, before Raoul could continue. Christine guessed that if Raoul had been allowed to finish his sentence, it would have been something unacceptably acerbic, from the way he had been talking; his speech becoming faster and harsher the farther his words had gone.

"No need for you to strain yourself trying to think of anything else." Luc said dryly, with no smile. The whole time, Raoul had spoken to Erik with an edge of sarcasm and contempt to his voice, which had gotten more pronounced the more he talked to him. Luc, it was clear, took offense at that. Christine was unsure of what the boy felt towards her – actually, she thought that Luc was uncertain of that as well – but she was sure that Luc's opinion of Raoul dropped lower with each passing minute. The tense silence was unsettling to her, so she decided to break it.

"Is…is that your only condition?"

Erik looked at her and his voice was calm and nonthreatening again. "No. There is just one more. I don't want anyone disturbing us or harming us."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Raoul scoffed, "seeing as you were the one causing all the harm in the first place."

"_Raoul!"_

Christine heard Luc make a furious sound, and he must have moved towards Raoul to attack him in revenge again, because Erik put his hand out in Luc's direction in a gesture clearly meaning 'stay put,' and his eyes were hard and commanding. Then he turned to Raoul, and again he seemed unaffected, but she could see his eyes snapping with growing anger.

"Nobody harmed _me_, Vicomte? Hmm…I seem to remember a homicidal vigilante mob, tracking me down and screaming for my blood? Driving me from Paris for a number of years, returning to an utterly destroyed home? The music I had spent years on end meticulously composing scattered around in countless shreds? Alone even more than ever before because the opera house was completely abandoned save for me?"

"And that's not counting what the two of you did," Luc growled.

"Luc." Erik said warningly.

But Luc did not intend to let it go so easily. "_Désertion_," he sang softly and icily, his eyes slits of cold black flame. "_L'abandon_."

_Desertion…Abandonment…_ Christine knew the words were meant to produce remorse in her, and they did, but they seemed almost beautiful sung in Luc's voice, soft and smooth as silk. There was no question now about who had been training him.

"Luc, enough." Erik ordered. He turned to the angry boy. "Isn't this usually the time of day you go to polish that sword of yours? Why don't you go do that now?"

Luc huffed in annoyance, but he obeyed Erik and started towards a doorway at the back of the room. But before he left, he stopped for a moment and turned his head back. The one dark eye that glowed from behind the black mask like a burning ember was staring at Raoul; and he said softly, "You're right, brother. I wouldn't want _his _blood getting all over my sword, no matter how satisfying it would be."

Raoul's face contorted in outrage, but Christine put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a look warning him not to take the bait. It was enough to placate him, but she knew he and Luc wouldn't be able to tolerate each other for long. Erik, however, did not seem to agree with Luc's hatred towards them. He looked at the doorway Luc had disappeared through and sighed melancholically. Then he turned to Raoul and Christine. "So now that he's gone, would you like me to tell you about him?"

"He already told us how he came to be with you: you took him in as a child." Raoul informed him. "It's no surprise he turned out so contemptible, with you raising him. Ah! Don't slap me, Christine, it's the truth!"

"It's no wonder he hates you so much; don't be so rude!" Christine snapped, fed up with Raoul's inconsiderate comments.

Erik laughed half-heartedly. "Try not to mind Luc's insults too much. I can't say he doesn't mean any harm, but he's a kind-hearted boy, believe me."

"Then why does he try to attack me every time I open my mouth?"

"Because he knows I'm the person you hate the most, and in turn, he hates you for it. Luc is devoted to me to a fault, and this is only partly because I'm the one that saved him from a life of being alone in the world that despised him. Also, Luc has a…vindictive tendency to him. When he was a child and lived on his own, from the stories he told I got the impression that he always defended himself by fighting back at the people who hurt him and taunted him, if he was able to. Always trying to avenge himself. Luc says that's just the way he is, but I believe his past is where it comes from."

"Why was he ostracized? Is it because he resembles you so much – Ah! Christine, stop that!"

Erik's face was stony, and Christine saw with rising apprehension the barely veiled fury in his dark eyes. "Yes. That's _exactly_ why," he replied coldly, running two fingers down the outline of his mask. "Because we are so alike."

Raoul immediately realized he had made a grave mistake in his choice of words. He opened his mouth, and then had the grace to shut it again. "So…" He fumbled for words to break the deafening silence. "We are…in agreement? About the conditions for the restoration of the opera house?"

"Yes. We will not bother anybody as long as Luc and I remain unharmed, nobody comes to trouble us, and those clueless managers take my advice and pay my salary."

Christine exhaled in relief; Erik's voice had returned to normal, and he seemed to have realized that Raoul's insult had not been intentionally directed at his disfigurement. Also, he had indirectly confirmed her thoughts that Luc was disfigured as well, and the pair shared similar lives and histories.

"Erik," she said suddenly.

"Yes, Christine?"

"Is Luc your…student?" she asked, unwilling to say _new student_.

Erik brightened, intentionally ignoring her hesitation. "Yes. Like I said, we are very alike and not just physically. Luc is quite the young musical prodigy. When I first met him, he was interested in everything I could teach him about music. Actually, he reminded me very much of you."

"Me?"

"He reminds you of _Christine? Him?_"

"Of course." Erik had decided to ignore Raoul's remarks. "He is eager to learn, always striving to do better and be better. He is hardworking and diligent. He learns and performs very well. He is innately talented, and he sings beautifully."

"Oh…" Christine blushed a little. "_Merci_," she whispered. Raoul fumed.

"And he can do more than sing like an angel. I've taught him to play several instruments – organ, piano, and violin, for example. He has a gift for that as well. Right now, I'm teaching him to compose. He's fine at that too."

"So Luc is really more like you," Christine said. But even though Erik and Luc were very alike, almost disturbingly so, she had noticed the nuances between them in both appearance and personality.

Erik seemed to agree. "We are very like one another."

"I think we've established that enough already," Raoul growled.

"But Luc is not me in miniature. He's different in nature, in beliefs and spirit. I refer to myself as a creature of the night. Luc is not like that, merely one who dwells in shadows; he is the shadow itself, if you can understand."

"How is he different from you in personality? I can see he's less forgiving."

"And more loquacious."

"He's a little more cunning and clever, and far more spirited and strong-willed. I take so much pride in him. He's learned more than what I've been able to teach him; he's brilliant, and gifted as well."

Raoul was currently annoyed at two things: first, that Erik extolled Luc's talent and proficiency in the fine art of music and beyond. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear when such animosity was mounting between the two of them. But he still counted himself lucky that Erik seemed to be tolerating him, and also that he was telling Luc to do so as well. Second, that he had noticed something that Christine and the Phantom shared…

He turned to Christine and voiced his thoughts under his breath, "He sounds like you when you're talking about Alia."

"What?"

"Who is Alia?" Erik inquired curiously, head slightly cocked to the side.

"Alia is our daughter," Christine answered.

"Daughter," Erik echoed in a whisper.

"She's practically a duplicate of Christine," Raoul said. "Looks just as beautiful, acts just as sweet, sings just as angelically – "

"Now you're going on about her too! And for the last time, she's not _just_ like me. She has your eyes, for one thing."

"And," Raoul added, turning to Erik. "She knows about you, but she doesn't know anything about what happened between you and us. I intend to keep it that way. Can you…respect that, please?"

Erik half-smiled. "Though I don't know how I would have the opportunity to say anything to her, I won't reveal anything you don't want her to know. And…I understand what you were getting at before. I sound like I'm doting on Luc like a parent, I know."

Christine became curious about Erik's relationship with Luc. "Do you…think of him as a son?"

Erik deliberated for few moments before answering. "Somewhat. Remember that I raised him from when he was eight years old. He's seventeen now. So…I'd have to say yes, I do think of him as a son. But he could never think of me as a father, though."

"Why not?"

But before Erik could answer, Luc came striding back in. Erik sighed when he saw the sword – now shining in the candlelight in a self-satisfied way; Luc had spent the while he was gone cleaning it – still strapped into place at Luc's side. Christine thought that Erik probably had hoped he would leave it in his room. He was smiling, but it was only a façade – the way he looked at Raoul dared him to say anything more against him or Erik and see how Luc would kill him.

"So what did I miss?" he asked, resuming his former position against the wall.

"Nothing important." Erik said dismissively.

"I don't believe there's anything else to say," Raoul said. "We'll go now?" he asked, turning to Christine, who nodded.

"Wait a moment. What is going to happen?" Luc asked. "I'd like to know the details."

"The workers responsible for the rebuilding and restoration should be here in about a week. We'll see to it that they have strict orders to leave this - basement – catacomb – lair – whatever you call this place, to leave it alone."

"Good. I was planning on sealing up all the known entrances anyway, and concealing the unknown ones more effectively."

"That will do perfectly. And the place should be up and running again in a few weeks after that."

"Do you understand, Luc?"

"_Oui._"

"Yes, now, we're leaving?" Raoul said, starting for the gate. But he stopped short after a few steps, as though he had suddenly remembered something, and then he turned to the boy who watched him go with fierce hostility in his black eyes. "Er…Luc?" Raoul addressed him cautiously. Luc raised his eyebrows slightly to show he was listening. "You know he isn't really your brother, don't you?" he asked, jerking his head towards Erik but not taking his eyes off Luc.

From the look on his face, it seemed like Luc thought Raoul was missing the most obvious point in the world. He ducked his head briefly and ran his hand quickly through his hair, and fixed his gaze on Raoul again. "Of course he is," Luc insisted. "_Mon dieu_, what is so hard to understand? I know we are not related by blood, but we are still brothers!"

Raoul frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. How did you come to that idea?"

"He is older than I am, he is male, and he is my family. Doesn't that make him my big brother?"

Raoul opened his mouth as if to object, found that he could not find words to argue without seeming foolish, and shut it again. And he had to admit to himself: the boy had a point. But that was all he had stopped for, and he wanted nothing more at the moment then to get out of this hellhole. He touched Christine's shoulder and turned sharply to go, expecting her to follow.

Christine was hesitant, and she looked back at Erik, afraid of the nostalgia. But Erik's expression was not pained at all. He looked back at her with an accepting visage, and nodded his head slowly, indicating that he had no qualms about letting her go. Nodding slightly in response, she turned and started after Raoul. And she tried to pretend she hadn't seen the intense yearning hidden in his eyes that had replaced the crushed, wounded despair that her last parting had brought. Christine wasn't sure which affected her more.

As they reached the gate Christine caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to see Luc coming over to them.

"Closing the gate behind you," he explained in response to her questioning look. She accepted this and continued to follow Raoul, still in the dark as to Luc's opinion of her. He had made his feelings of pure vehemence towards Raoul very clear; but his voice and expression when he addressed her or spoke about her were neutral, and she wondered why that was as she and Raoul climbed into the boat and left the sight of the pair behind them.

Then, amid the clanging and grinding of the closing gate, she heard Erik ask, "So, _jeune loup_, what do you think of them?"

Christine grabbed Raoul's wrist, stopping him. "Wait," she said. "I want to hear…"

"Hear what that boy thinks of you?" Raoul guessed, having heard Erik's question as well and also having noticed Luc's apparent lack of emotions regarding her. She nodded, staring at him pleadingly. "All right," he relented. "But we stay out of sight."

**~0~**

**Translations –**

**Tranquillité – Peace, calm.**

**Jeune loup – Young wolf.**

**Oui – Yes.**

**Merci – Thank you.**

**The rest are translated in the story already.**

**[A/N] I saw the movie first (very good, but the musical far exceeds it), so I see Raoul and Christine as Patrick Wilson and Emmy Rossum, and Erik as Gerard Butler. Luc's singing voice is kind of a combination of the best elements of Michael Crawford's and Gerard Butler's voices, but it's a bit more like Michael Crawford. (Original, only true Phantom! I just wish I had seen him perform it live instead of having to look for it on YouTube…)**

**~0~**


	5. Exiles

There were a few seconds of quiet as Luc walked away from the gate, back to his original position, only the rhythmic clicking of his boots on the stone breaking the silence. "I don't like _him_ at all," he finally said.

"What a surprise," Erik muttered sarcastically.

"I see now what you meant about him – he's hateful. He was so disrespectful to you!"

"Well, Christine married him for a reason, so he must be a decent person." Erik tried, but everyone listening to him knew he didn't wholly mean what he was saying.

"That only means that he only acts so viciously towards you. I can't stand that! What does he have against you that justifies that?"

"Perhaps the fact that I made a serious attempt to kill him? And that I very nearly did?"

Luc began to argue, then became silent, unable to think of anything to say.

"I didn't forget to leave that part out when I told you, did I, Luc?"

Luc was silent for a few moments more before grudgingly saying, "No, Erik, you didn't."

"Good."

"I still hate him, though."

Christine thought she heard Erik emit a quiet sigh. "Don't you, too?" Luc demanded.

"Yes," Erik said. "I probably despise that fop more than you do. But I'm far less likely to do something hotheaded because of it than you are. I'm worried that you'll get yourself into trouble, always looking for vengeance."

"Hmph. I can take care of myself."

Erik sighed again, deeper than before. "Well, enough about him. What about Christine?"

Again, Luc was silent, deep in thought; and the suspense was killing her.

"I don't know," he finally declared.

_What? That's all you can think of?_ Christine shouted at Luc mentally.

"You don't know?"

"Yes, that's just what I said. I'm not sure."

"Could you explain that?"

"Well," Luc began. "When you first told me who she was, I hated her as well; maybe a little more than I hated him. Don't look at me like that, Erik! No, I mean it, stop that, you'll be showing up in my nightmares. That's better. Thank you. Now, if you'll let me explain myself?"

There was a moment of quiet; Christine guessed that Erik was gesturing for him to go on.

"…When I first met you, I couldn't stop wondering about the look that never left your eyes. It was like you were a defeated shell of your former self. You seemed all right and fine on the surface, but completely destroyed and broken apart within; and I could see the inner devastation through your eyes. And I wondered and wondered what could possibly have been able to totally crush you like that."

_Me. _A fresh pang of guilt seared Christine on hearing Luc's description of Erik in the aftermath of what she had done to him.

"I told you for the first time when you were, what? Eleven?"

"Yes. I noticed that pain in your eyes from the first day I met you, and yet it took me three years to figure out how and get up the nerve to ask you why it was there," Luc laughed softly. "And then you told me: You had fallen in love with Christine Daae, taught her to sing as divinely as you do, gave her all you had to give her; and then her childhood sweetheart showed up, she falls in love with him, her feelings are returned, unlike yours, as fate would have it, she abandons you because she prefers him over you, you attempt to win her back, she rejects you despite everything, you end up failing and losing her, she deserts you for him and you're left all alone," he related bitterly.

Christine felt her heart sink. Luc probably did hate her as well, likely more than he hated Raoul, but for some reason was keeping it quiet. Did Erik hate her for what she'd done to him, too? Had he just been acting before? He had seemed a little too forgiving…

Raoul expressed his feelings more bluntly. "Why, the son of a…" he hissed between clenched teeth.

But Erik's next words proved them both wrong. "_Luc,_" he growled, his voice no longer sending a warning. "That is not how I told the story and you know that. No matter how much I have tried to tell it truthfully and in an unbiased way, you always find some way to lift the blame from me. You have to realize that even though I am your older brother and I treat you well, does not mean I can do no wrong. You can be so resolute sometimes."

Luc sighed, as though Erik had chastised him about this many times before. "I know, I know. It's just that…when you finished telling me what had happened to you, I couldn't believe it. I was stunned. I…didn't know what to think. You're right: I automatically refused to believe you were at fault. I didn't even consider the possibility. But I had just turned eleven, and I've had time to think things out since then. Then, I blamed both of them, not you – actually everyone except you - for what happened. But now I can see that you were wrong in places too; that you are also guilty. I've formed new opinions since I was younger."

"And what might those new opinions be?"

"From the start, I didn't like that fop," Luc said, and Christine could imagine him smirking. "I put him at fault for most of what happened. And how I just saw him act towards you only intensified that. But, when I took time alone just to think about it all, my mind drifted to _her_. I couldn't understand why she would deny you, betray you, refuse to accept you – "

"Get to the point, Luc," Erik said curtly.

"All right – I didn't understand why she did not want you or want to be with you. I am perfectly happy living with you, and that's why I couldn't figure out why she would not be. I originally thought she was just like all the rest of the world, and threw you away and she wanted nothing to do with you because of…how you look. But I realized later that that wasn't how it was at all."

"When did you have your epiphany?"

"I believe when I was fifteen, and you had related the story to me, I believe…"

"Many, many times – more than I would have liked," Erik grumbled.

"I'm sorry, brother, but I just wanted to understand what happened and why." Luc sounded apologetic, and stopped speaking for a moment.

"Don't worry, Luc, I understand," Erik assured him. "Continue, please."

"I realized that I am happy in my decidedly fraternal relationship with you, and I was glad to stay with you for different reasons than she would be. And your style of living is fine for me, but wouldn't have suited her as well. We are different, and that was the key point I was missing."

"And did you also realize that I was possessive of her and was trying to force her to love me; which ended up repelling her from me? Added to the fact that I murdered quite a few people in the course of all that? Including her close friend and lover, who in a jealous frenzy I threatened to kill if she did not choose me? Pressuring her, trying to control her feelings? And you know people don't usually love something that's terrifying them – "

"Stop! I understand! Yes, I realized that too. I wouldn't have worded it the way you did, but I get the point. She didn't love you, and she hurt you, but I can't truly blame her for that. I don't hate her…but I can't say I like her much either."

"Indecisive, are we?"

"Yes…I can see why she didn't choose to be with you, but…I still can't find it in myself to forgive what she did to you."

Erik sighed. "I don't think you have ever forgiven any wrong done to you or me in your life, Luc. I suppose I can't expect you to start now."

"No. But I can tolerate them. Both the two of them, and the ones coming here soon who…ah…don't like you."

"That may be the understatement of the century, Luc."

"…It's that bad?"

"And you know what I did to deserve that."

Luc heaved a sigh. "I know. But – "

"You'll still find some excuse to justify me."

"I try."

Erik heaved a sigh of many emotions. "What did I ever do to deserve a companion like you?"

"Well, you –"

"Let me guess – I took you in and brought you up? One thing, Luc, one thing in my entire bloodstained life. I've…I don't deserve…not you…not Christine…I…" His voice was tormented and anguished, and it pierced Christine's heart, knowing that it was partly her fault.

Luc was silent for a while. "Brother?" he asked finally. His voice sounded much smaller and quieter, more vulnerable.

Erik picked up on this change and his voice became gentler. "Yes, Luc?"

"Did I do the wrong thing?"

"What?"

"By letting those two come here, by bringing them down to you. I didn't know who they were. She said they didn't want to hurt you, but it's clear you're upset. If I hadn't led them here, this wouldn't have happened. They didn't seem so bad at first…I didn't know…I'm sorry, brother."

"Luc…Luc, it is not your fault. I…If I weren't a…If I hadn't…It's all my –"

"Don't try to tell me all the pain you feel, you brought on yourself! No more!" Luc flared up once more. Christine guessed that he had heard Erik mentioning many times before that he thought that everything that happened was his fault, and Luc couldn't take it. "What's done is done, Erik! Stop asking what you could have done differently! If he hadn't gotten in the way, taken what you could have had, and set up a death trap for you; if she hadn't –"

"Luc, don't you even start on her." Erik's command was firm, and then his voice was calmer. "You're right. I think we both need to remember what I said, right after I finished telling you the story the second time…"

"There is no blame," Erik and Luc said simultaneously. Erik went on, "It was not Christine's fault. It was not the fop's fault."

"And it was not your fault," Luc relayed what Erik had said years before. "But each of you played a part and so each of you shoulders a part of the culpability."

"That's right. If you have to blame somebody, you must blame all three of us."

"I see your point," Luc admitted. "But still. We have both suffered and there's nothing we can do about it, no matter who's to blame. And we both know why." His voice had taken on a darker tone.

"There is no altering the truth," Erik agreed gravely. "Even if we wished to."

"Everything that happened to both of us, all the pain we've felt and everything we've lost; it all traces back to this…curse," Luc said, the words snarling out of him in an enraged hiss. Christine could imagine him putting his hand over his mask. "_De la naissance haï,"_ he sang out harshly. "_Non pardonné_."

Christine's emotions were not mixed on hearing Luc sing this time, and she felt her heart twist a little. _From birth hated…Unforgiven…_These words, and the sorrow and rage Luc had in his voice as he sang them, came of a life of being alone and despised, were born of suffering. It pained her, and evoked pity in her. She knew that Luc would like her even less if he knew she pitied him. Erik had not wanted pity at all; she might go so far as to think he preferred hatred. Luc would be outraged at being pitied, she supposed, especially by her.

"I must say, Luc, you've come a long way since I first began to teach you."

"I owe it all to you. And that includes some of my…other talents besides singing." Christine could detect an inside-joke kind of smirk in his voice. Beside her, Raoul winced, imagining again what "other talents" Luc might possess.

"Don't be modest, boy, you're innately brilliant! I merely helped. And that reminds me," Erik said, his voice becoming a mix of pride in his student and graveness at his own thought. "You've finished that song?"

"Finally, yes."

"This one took you longer to complete than usual."

"That's because my nightmares were plotting against me. When I started to put the song to paper, the dream I found it in refused to come to me. In short, when I actually wanted to have this particular dream, I did not. It was frustrating, but it eventually did come, and I was able to get it all down and finish."

"Excellent. Where is it now?"

"On top of the organ, the farthest on the left."

Christine did not hear Erik's footsteps – telling her he was right beside the organ. She heard the papers rustling as Erik searched for the right one. "Is this it? _Il n'est pas un de nous?_" he asked, reading from the paper.

"_Oui_."

"Very nice," Erik said simply, examining it. "Not exactly operatic, but still shows your prowess."

"Could we try it?"

"What?"

"It's not meant to be sung as a duet, but I want to hear it. Couldn't we make it work?"

There were a few moments of quiet as Erik considered it. "All right, _jeune loup_, we'll try it. _En français_ or in English?"

Suddenly Christine was not at all sure she wanted to hear a song born from a phantom boy's nightmares. But she was frozen by curiosity, again the fatal flaw. She already knew what Erik's darker music sounded like, and, wanting to know what Luc's music was like, she did not move. The organ music began to play, and Luc's voice sang out first, then Erik's. As they sang, Christine could not help comparing their voices and wondering at how perfect yet different they were, but gave the same deep meaning to Luc's song.

Every word Luc sang was laced with the venom of the hatred and fury he felt in his heart. It seemed like he was accusing the world of some unspeakable crime and swearing vengeance on them for it. A new thought occurred to Christine: this song had been in Luc's dream, and the contents of dreams were often dredged up from one's own life experiences. Could the lyrics of this song be things Luc had heard throughout his life, and he was flinging them back in the faces of the people who had said them, like he was trying to deliver a vengeful blow with each word?

Erik's voice was much less aggressive by contrast, but where there was fury in Luc's voice, there was almost unbearable sorrow, mourning, and grief in Erik's. It was as though with every word he sang and every note he played he was asking what could have justified his treatment, what had been the reason for being born condemned; with every sound he made begging to know, "_Why?"_

Two voices sang the song of the nightmare they had lived. One raged about his place in life, the other lamented his fate. It made for a powerful and haunting combination to Christine.

"_Déception," _Luc sang in French.

_Deception_… Christine mentally translated.

"_Trahison_," Erik sang.

_Betrayal_…

"_Il est dangereux, glacée et mortelle_," they sang in unison.

_He is dangerous, ice cold and deadly…_

"_Déception_," Luc sang again.

_Deception…_

"_Imposteur_," Erik followed.

_Imposter…_

"_Trahison_."

_Betrayal…_

"_Honteux."_

_Disgraceful…_

They sang in unison again:

"_Il est le mal, c'est dans la marque sur son visage._"

_He is evil, it's in the mark on his face…_

"_Va-t'en, bête démon."_

_Go away, demon beast…_

"_Déception_," Luc began their chorus.

_Deception…_

"_Imposteur_."

_Imposter…_

"_Trahison."_

_Betrayal…_

"_Honteux."_

_Disgraceful…_

"_Vous ne voulex pas d'avoir un étranger,"_ Luc sang.

_You wouldn't want to have a stranger…_

"_Il est dangereux, glacée et mortelle,_" Erik sang in the background.

_He is dangerous, ice cold and deadly…_

"_Il n'est pas humain, il n'est pas sûr," _Luc sang.

_He is not human, he is not safe…_

"_Evadez-vous de nous,"_ Luc sang.

_Get away from us…_

"_Déception, imposteur," _Erik sang.

_Deception, imposter…_

"_Trahison, honteux," _Luc sang.

_Betrayal, disgraceful…_

"_Rentrez chez à vous-même," _Erik sang.

_Go home to yourself…_

"_Il est dangereux, glacée et mortelle,"_ Luc sang.

_He is dangerous, ice cold and deadly…_

"_Il n'est pas humain, il n'est pas sûr,"_ Erik sang.

After that, only Luc's voice rang out, echoing around the cavernous room.

"_Né du mal, nourri par la haine," _he sang, much more passionately than before; his voice seemed to be blazing, every last bit of the fire raging in his heart channeled into his voice.

_Born from evil, nurtured by hate…_

"_Il est seul, c'est son destin."_

_He is alone, it is his fate…_

"_Laisse-le vivre, laisser le lâche courir!"_

_Let him live, let the coward run…_

"_Et nous ne lui pardonnerai jamais!"_

_And we will never forgive him…_

"_Parce qu'il n'est pas comme nous!"_

_Because he is not like us…_

"_Il n'a jamais été comme nous."_

_He has never been like us…_

"_Il ne peut pas appartenir."_

_He cannot belong…_

"_Non, jamais!"_

_No, never…_

Erik's voice had come in softly at the end of the last line, and now both Erik's and Luc's voices sang together, stronger than before.

"_Il a menti pour nous tous."_

_He lied to us all…_

"_Le brouillard s'est levé."_

_The fog has lifted…_

"_Descente dans le ténèbres, le monstre."_

_Descend into darkness, the monster…_

"_Et il ne jamais deviendra l'un de nous."_

_And he never will become one of us…_

Luc held the last note as Erik sang, "_Il n'est pas un de nous."_

_He is not one of us…_

Luc began the chorus for a final time.

"_Déception."_

_Deception…_

"_Trahison."_

_Betrayal…_

"_Déception."_

_Deception…_

"_Trahison."_

_Betrayal…_

"_Déception."_

_Deception…_

There was a deafening silence after the last notes died away, still sounding in their heads. Christine and Raoul hardly dared to breathe, afraid of being detected. It seemed like forever before Erik spoke. "Very nice, Luc," he said again.

"Nice? Did you go temporarily deaf when I said that song came from a nightmare I have?" Luc had a half-hearted teasing tone to his voice, and it seemed like he was trying to ease the mood in the room.

"You know what I mean, Luc," Erik said. He knew what Luc was trying to do, but it wasn't working. Not now. "Like I said, you've improved your skill so much. I've looked over some of your other work, and it is magnificent beyond belief."

"Without you, they would not be that way," Luc pressed.

"_Mon dieu_, Luc, take some credit for your own talent!" Erik sounded exasperated, but Christine could tell he was too pleased with his young student to be frustrated with him. "You should take as much pride in yourself as I do."

"Hmm…I'm not sure I should do that. From what I've heard, you're not very happy with yourself or proud of yourself either," Luc said, mock-seriously, but still teasing Erik.

"You - !" Erik gave up. "I don't know how I managed to survive nine years of you. You're insufferable." Luc laughed. "I'm going to go groom Caesar. His nice coat was looking a little dingy."

"All right."

With that, Luc left, singing something in French under his breath. After his voice faded, Christine heard Erik sigh once more. "You're the most belligerent, headstrong, impulsive thing I've ever met in my life," he remarked to himself. "But I still love you, _mon_ _petit loup._" He left the room, and she heard his footsteps growing fainter with each passing second until he was gone. They stayed on for a few moments, until Raoul touched her arm lightly and motioned for them to go. They made their way back up to the surface in silence until Raoul spoke.

"Those two must be very close," he remarked. Christine looked at him, thinking that there was no need to point out something so obvious. Raoul went on, "If you can tease the Phantom the way that boy did and not evoke his anger, you must be very dear to him." He chuckled. "I'd rather tease a full-grown lion than him. I wasn't even aware he had any sense of humor at all."

"Neither was I," Christine admitted. "But, I can see that he's changed. He isn't quite who he used to be."

"Oh?" Raoul said wryly. He didn't think the Phantom could change from what he had known him as.

"Yes," Christine mused. "Perhaps adopting Luc…the trials and happiness of raising a child…perhaps that might have changed him somewhat."

As he pushed back the mirror, and allowed her through, his face and tone grew more serious. "I didn't like the Phantom before, and I still don't like him. I don't like his new little protégé, either."

Christine felt a little uneasy at the way he said 'protégé.' Had he forgotten who Erik's last young protégé had been?

But on meeting them, one can't help but respect them," he mused. Then he remembered he was not alone, and looked quickly at Christine. "Did I say that out loud?" Christine nodded. He huffed.

"Perhaps I am not the best judge because of my personal feelings towards them, but I don't trust either one of them. Even with the Phantom's promise, I still don't think it's safe to return to the way things used to be here. I've got a very bad feeling deep in my heart about this, Christine. Mark my words; this situation is going to turn ugly, sooner or later."

Christine did not agree with him, as she trusted Erik to remain true to his word. But she couldn't help but wonder if he might one day be proven right.

**~0~**

**The song Erik and Luc sang is the Canadian French version of 'Not One of Us' from The Lion King II, converted into European French and with lyrics altered to fit them. (I was using the oh-so-accurate Google Translate, so forgive me if some of the French is wrong.) Personally, I think if they made Lion King II into a Broadway show, it'd be pretty good. It's my favorite of all the movies.**

**Link to the song - ****.com/watch?v=tmn-S2siba0**** (If the link doesn't work/doesn't show up completely when I upload the chapter, search 'One of Us (Canadian French)' and select the video by 'kikyo4815.'**

**Erik and Luc's theme is the French version of 'Brothers Under the Sun' from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. (Great song, greater movie. Watch it if you can.)**

**Link to the song - ****.com/watch?v=GtH-Ndzhl4k**** (Again, if there's a problem with the link, search 'Brothers Under the Sun (French + subs and translation)' on YouTube, and select the video by 'musicalbookwrm48.'**

**I really hope you like my story so far!**

**~0~**


	6. Welcome Back

**Kaen: Wow. I think I'm shaping up to be the crappiest updater on FF.**

**Erik: Yes. Yes, you are.**

**Kaen: *glares* Don't rub it in, Erik-sama. *brightens* But my God, Erik, check out the reviews! I LOVE LOVE LOVE REVIEWS! Erik, will you - ?**

**Erik: Don't ask, I'm on it! *goes out with roses and homemade chocolate-chip cookies for reviewers, A.K.A AdriaticRose and Maxniss Everide because they're the only ones who have reviewed so far***

**Kaen: Damn, he's efficient. And to the ones who've reviewed already, I can't thank you enough. Awesome? Amazing? Fantastic? Evoking shivers/goosebumps? Wow… You have no idea how great your words make me feel. Well, anyway, here's the next chapter. This one introduces the rest of this story's OCs, including one I KNOW you didn't see coming! Enjoy!**

Monsieur Firmin looked around at the glamorous-once-more Opera Populaire interior, and was pleased with what he observed. The repair crews had been quite skilled, he had to say, to bring the fire-scarred ruin back to its former splendor, and he admired the utter beauty the restoration had returned to its appearance. His eyes roamed the room, taking it all in, and then he turned his attentions to the flood of performers and workers arriving to fill the opera house and restore it to its former glory. He assumed a pleased expression, as he and Andre jovially greeted both veterans of the theater business and new arrivals.

He tried to lose the feeling that there was likely another, less welcome pair of eyes watching him from the shadows as he greeted Christopher Bertrand, the new chief stagehand – or, as he preferred not to think of him, Joseph Buquet's replacement. Christopher was about thirty-five years old, spoke only French, was deeply religious, and had a rather timid and meek personality; but he had proven himself to be far better at his job than his predecessor.

"_C'est un honneur, monsieurs,_" Christopher said as he shook Firmin's hand. "_Je suis privilégié d'être ici._"

"_C'est un plaisir de vous avoir, mon ami_," Firmin replied.

_Hopefully,_ Firmin thought darkly as Christopher went to introduce himself to the other workers, _that elegant cross around his neck will repel that demon of an Opera Ghost._

As his thoughts were on the Phantom, he was momentarily frightened when Andre blanched beside him and whispered urgently, "Oh, God…Firmin, look who's just arrived."

Firmin turned, expecting to see the nightmarish figure of the Phantom, and instead seeing a lean, dark ginger haired boy who looked to be around sixteen approaching them. He didn't look threatening, and Firmin was momentarily confused as to Andre's reaction. He was about to ask the reason for his friend's behavior, when he saw the woman beside the boy and immediately understood.

He caught part of what the boy had been saying: " – look quite talented to me, Mother. I see no reason for me to act so condescending."

"Tch. They are all pathetic. You have no competition here, Fabien."

"I won't be trying to compete with – "

"Ah, our managers!"

Firmin noticed Andre surreptitiously bless himself as Carlotta sauntered up to them, with a fake performer's smile plastered on her face, with the serious-looking boy – Fabien, he supposed - striding beside her. He couldn't for the life of him figure out who this boy was.

"Signora," Firmin said, putting on his own smile and working hard to sound pleased. "It is so good to see you again."

"It is good to be back here," Carlotta replied.

"Excellent. Now, might I ask who this young gentleman is?" Firmin asked, gesturing to Fabien, who, Firmin noticed, did not look like he had a very high opinion of them. His vivid green eyes – which seemed even brighter framed by his hair, so dark it was almost auburn, but had just enough red in it to mark it as a shade of ginger – were locked onto Firmin and Andre, appraising them, and it was slightly unnerving to Firmin.

"Oh?" Carlotta said, laying her hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is my son, Fabien."

Firmin hadn't known what he was going to hear regarding Fabien's identity, but it most definitely had not been that. He was struck speechless. Andre was shocked into speech. "Er…your son?"

"Yes, and he's just as talented as his father was," Carlotta purred, not noticing their shock. Fabien picked up on it, though, and Firmin thought he heard a soft chuckle come from the bottom of his throat.

"And, erm, who was his father?" Firmin ventured.

She looked surprised he had asked. "Ubaldo Piangi, of course. Who else?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Firmin said quickly, to hide his confusion.

"And I am sure my boy will be given as many starring roles in the coming performances as his parents did, no?" She looked at the pair before her with narrowed eyes, daring them to say anything otherwise. _Oh, Lord, _Firmin thought. _Just like last time. Like mother, like son. _

As Firmin tried to find a good reply, Fabien's eyes narrowed, and he attempted to speak. "But Mother, I – "

"Not now, Fabien," Carlotta cut him off. "I'm going to see if my friend Marianna has arrived yet. Fabien, do what you want for a while."

Fabien's eyes followed her as she left, and when she was out of sight he heaved a deep sigh. "Always so pushy…" he said, half to himself and half to Andre and Firmin. He had only a hint of an Italian accent, unlike his mother. "She wants the best for me, but she won't let me do this on my own, it seems."

Firmin did not say anything to this, still trying to figure out whether Carlotta's claim had been true. _Piangi's son? How?_

Fabien turned to them again, his intense green eyes trained on Firmin. "You know how she is, don't you?" he said. It wasn't a question. "You've had to deal with her before, correct?"

"Er…" Neither of them were quite sure how to reply to this without sounding offensive.

Fabien picked up on their uncertainty. "All right then, don't answer that. My point is, you know how she pushes to get things done her way. Well, I don't want that to happen when it comes to me."

"O-Of course," Firmin said, a little surprised that Fabien apparently did not take after his mother.

"I don't want to sound arrogant," Fabien went on. "But I do have great talent when it comes to this art. And I want to know that if I do well here, it's because of that, because of my own talent, and not because of my mother's influence. If she tries to pressure you into giving me a good role just because I'm her son, do not let her," Fabien said, with heavy emphasis on the last four words. "I want to be able to do these things myself, without any…help…from my mother. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Firmin agreed, with similar words of assent coming from Andre. He was beginning to like the boy, mainly because he seemed like the exact opposite of his mother.

Fabien's expression couldn't exactly be called a smile, but it was fairly close. "Thank you, monsieurs," he said. "I look forward to working here." And with that, Fabien turned and strode away.

"He doesn't seem too bad," Firmin remarked.

"He didn't seem very happy, though," Andre noted with concern.

"Andre, he lives with Carlotta. What other reason does he need to be unhappy?"

"Oh. Firmin," Andre said. "Do you think…it was true?"

Firmin didn't have to ask what Andre was talking about. "If Piangi really was his father? I don't know. But it doesn't seem too probable to me."

"Oh, it's true, monsieur," said a rough voice. Firmin turned to see that its owner was a grinning stagehand, named Etienne, Firmin remembered.

"Really?" Andre said skeptically. "How do _you_ know?"

"Well, nobody can prove it, but the rumor going around is that the boy was…ah…_conceived_ – " Etienne wagged his eyebrows suggestively as he said this, "– right before the performance of Don Juan. Understand?"

Firmin nodded quickly, he understood and did not need or want any more clarification.

"Anyway, no one knows for sure if it's really true or not, but I personally don't think either Carlotta or her boy have got reason to lie. It's actually quite possible, if you think about it."

Someone called Etienne's name from the stage area. "Well, I'll see you," he said, and left in the direction of the voice.

Firmin and Andre looked at each other. So it could be true.

"Poor boy," Andre remarked. "Growing up with his father dead long before he was even born."

The boy hadn't smiled once, Firmin remembered. He thought back on their brief conversation, and realized that Fabien had had a solemn, somewhat troubled appearance, and the bright, burning intensity never left his eyes. "He never smiled. Not once."

"Do you mean Fabien Giudicelli?"

Firmin turned and saw that the speaker was a slim girl with curly blond hair and concerned brown eyes. "Er…yes," he said. "Do you know him?"

"Not really," the girl admitted. "But he lives near me, and I see him occasionally. He never looks very happy. Not at all."

"I see," Firmin said. "Well, perhaps being able to perform here will cheer him up. At least, that's the impression I got while speaking with him."

The girl smiled. "Yes, this will probably be good for him."

Firmin frowned. "Pardon me, mademoiselle, but you remind me of someone. I just can't put my finger on who."

"Oh?" the girl said, looking slightly puzzled. Just then, what might have turned into an awkward silence was broken by another girl's voice.

"Jacqueline! There you are!" A slender girl with bright cerulean eyes and wavy brown hair came to stand at the blond girl's side. "I told you, stop running off on me! I can't keep up with you if you're darting all over the place."

"Oh, is that what you were trying to say before?" the blond girl said, the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, but you were gone before I could even finish," the brunette said, crossing her arms and trying to look displeased, but the light of excitement in her eyes contradicted that. Suddenly Firmin realized why the two girls had seemed familiar to him.

"Pardon my asking," he said, addressing the brunette girl, "but you wouldn't happen to know Christine Daae, would you?"

The brunette smiled. "She's my mother," she explained. "My name is Alia."

"Ah, you're her daughter!" Andre said brightly. Alia nodded.

"And I'm Jacqueline Giry," the blond girl said. "I think you knew both my mother and my grandmother, right?"

"Yes, we remember your mother," Andre said. "One of the best dancers we'd seen. Yours too," he added to Alia.

"As for your grandmother…well, we had to admire her," Firmin said. "If nothing else, she garnered everyone's respect."

Jacqueline smiled. "Oh, I've seen that. My father and my brother Dominic have experienced it more than any of us."

"By the way, I think it's wonderful that your mother's taking over the position of ballet mistress. I'm told she's taught dance at several other places as well. I think she will do her job perfectly."

"Oh, yes, she's excellent. And perhaps it will run in the family!" said Jacqueline.

"And your mother?" Firmin asked Alia. "Is she doing well?"

"Oh, yes," Alia said. "She's told me so much about this place. I think I'm going to love it!"

"So has my mother, and my father too," Jacqueline said. At the slightly puzzled looks from Andre and Firmin at the last few words, she explained, "Father was a flutist with the orchestra here when it was open last time. He's excellent at it, but it's not likely you'd have noticed him."

"Ah. Well," Firmin said. "Do either of you take after your parents?"

"Oh, yes, especially Alia," Jacqueline said brightly, gesturing to her friend. "She's a pretty skillful dancer, and aside from her mother, she sings better than anyone I've heard before. Just like her mother," Jacqueline added with a smirk in Alia's direction.

"Stop that," said Alia, half-heartedly slapping Jacqueline's arm. "Like I've said again and again, I am not exactly like my mother! If anything, you and Dominic fit that description." She paused, again finding it impossible to get upset. She turned back to Jacqueline, and said quietly, "Do you really think I'm that good of a singer?"

"Of course!" said Jacqueline. "I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true!" She turned to Andre and Firmin. "Alia's got a bit of a shyness problem." Ignoring Alia's protests and denial, she went on. "But trust me; you'll be glad to have her here."

"And you too!" Alia said. "You're the best dancer I know, and you and Dominic both have such sweet singing voices. You're just as good as I am, don't sell yourself short!"

"I suppose so," Jacqueline said, but didn't sound as though she meant it. "Speaking of Dominic, didn't he want us to meet back up with him soon?"

"Yes, by the stage," Alia answered. She turned to Andre and Firmin. "We need to go. It was nice to meet you both." Jacqueline nodded in agreement.

"_Au revoir, mademoiselles," _Andre said. "It was lovely meeting you too."

"I do look forward to seeing the two of you perform," Firmin said.

Alia smiled and thanked them, then the girls ran off toward the stage area, with Jacqueline pulling Alia by her wrist despite the fact that they were going at more or less the same pace.

Firmin looked to Andre and grinned. "I believe we have another rising star and prima ballerina in those two," he said. "I really am looking forward to seeing how they turn out."

~0~

_She's so excited, _Alia thought as Jacqueline half-dragged, half-led her to the stage to find Dominic, chattering happily the whole way. _But I can hardly blame her, I am too! _She remembered the stories her mother had told her about living and performing here when she was Alia's age. Her father hadn't said much about it, though he would occasionally give his opinion on certain performances or a part of the building's design he had liked. She had to say, she liked Maman's stories better. Papa wasn't much of a storyteller.

Jacqueline pulled her over to a pile of wooden crates on the far left side of the stage. She stopped talking for a moment to look around for her brother, and then huffed and sat down on one of the crates when he was nowhere to be seen. "Ugh!" she complained. "What's the matter with Dominic? Telling _us_ to meet _him_ and then not showing up for us. Just like a boy."

Alia grinned at her friend's hyper, overly enthusiastic, slightly mercurial personality. "You only think that because he's your brother," she said, sitting down beside Jacqueline.

"And your opinion differs from mine because _you_ don't have to live with him."

"True," Alia said. "And I'll admit, he can be quite irritating sometimes."

"Now, really, 'Lia," began a calm voice from beside the girls. Its owner, none other than Dominic, took the last few steps over to his sister and friend. He shook his head at Alia in mock disapproval. "I would expect better from a lady of your status."

Jacqueline narrowed her eyes at him. "And I would expect you not to keep us waiting."

Dominic raised his eyebrows, which were an even lighter blond than his hair. "I only got here about a minute after you did. Father just wanted to introduce me to some of the other returning orchestra members. No need to get so bent out of shape over nothing."

"I am not! Alia, am I – " Jacqueline was cut short by Alia nodding and trying to suppress a smile. She huffed in annoyance.

"It really shouldn't be much of an issue for you, me just stopping to meet some of the people who will be my coworkers in the near future," Dominic said. "Don't you want to get to know some of the other dancers?"

"Well, some of them we haven't met," Alia explained, "a couple of them were friendly, and the rest didn't seem to want to talk with us."

"Ah. Well, the people I talked with seemed just fine to me."

"Dominic Giry," Jacqueline said warningly, "don't you _dare_ us that as an excuse to start in on how you think your choices of work here are superior to ours."

Dominic smirked. He had always thought the music was the most important part of a show (mostly because he was an aspiring flutist, like his father, and pianist, which was new to his family. He didn't care much for dancing, although he had a decent singing voice and was a very good actor if he put his mind to it) and he frequently teased his sister about it. Even now, he couldn't resist.

"Well, I do think I'm better off in the orchestra pit, where hardly anyone notices me," he said, a devilish smile growing on his face. If I make a small mistake, nobody sees me, whereas if you make a mistake everyone will see you fall flat on your face onstage."

Jacqueline made a noise like an angry cat and swatted her hand angrily at her brother, who hopped back just in time to avoid getting smacked. "You know that's not true!" Jacqueline said. "Your mistake will be noticed just as mine would. Stop acting like you do everything better."

"Well, I _am _older," Dominic said, grinning.

Jacqueline threw up her hands in aggravation. "We're twins! We're the same age! How many times do I have to tell you before it gets through your thick head!"

"Ah, no, we're not the same; I am a full twenty minutes older than you."

"I…I give up."

"So," Alia said, hoping to dissolve the siblings' argument. "How do you like this place, Dominic?"

Dominic smiled. "I love it so far. I think we're in for a good time here. Hard work too, as Grandmother would no doubt add, but a good time nonetheless. What do you two like best about it?"

Alia had to think about that for a second, to find the right words to describe her feelings. "The potential for so many things to happen," she said. "Jacqueline and I can perform before a greater amount of people than we've ever done before, and we can improve our talents more. So will you. And just about anything else could happen!"

"Never thought about it like that before," said Dominic, looking thoughtful. "I like the idea. So, what about you, Jacqueline?"

Jacqueline went slightly pink in the face. "Er…the same thing as Alia, I suppose. And I do look forward to meeting all the different people."

Dominic raised one eyebrow, knowing that this was probably not the true answer, but Jacqueline didn't want to say it around him. "All right," he said. "I'm going to go see what the other parts of the place are like. You two be careful, now," he added, smirking.

"Oh, dear, Dominic, is my father rubbing off on you?" Alia teased. Dominic laughed, then turned and headed off.

As soon as Dominic was out of sight, Alia turned quickly to Jacqueline. "So tell me the truth: What are you liking best about all this?"

Jacqueline leaned closer to her and said softly, "All the handsome boys I've seen!"

Alia sighed. "Really, Jacqueline?"

"Well, don't tell me you haven't noticed any of them too! Have you noticed that a lot of the newcomers are around sixteen or seventeen, give or take a year or two? And a lot of the boys are so good-looking." Jacqueline sighed dreamily.

"So let me get this straight – you like being here mainly because of the idea that you can be around good-looking boys."

"It's a great thought, isn't it?" Jacqueline said. "And some of them are from very high-class families. Like you, 'Lia!" she added as an afterthought, evoking a small sigh from Alia, who didn't much like being judged by her family's status. "There's this one I heard some other girls talking about…from what they said, he sounds really nice. And handsome, too."

"Oh, really? Might I ask who?"

"Um…I didn't catch his first name. I think his surname's Renard or Renvoire or something."

Alia's eyes widened when she heard the name, and memories from almost ten years ago rushed back to her, memories of a young boy with kind brown eyes and a bright smile. _Renard…It couldn't be…Gabriel? Is Gabriel here?_

Jacqueline didn't notice Alia's surprise, and kept right on talking. "But I don't think I'm interested in him right now, though maybe I could get to know him and some others. I…think I prefer someone else." Her eyes roved to the other side of the stage, fixing on an almost bored-looking boy with very dark ginger hair. "That's Fabien. Remember that boy I told you about once?" she said to Alia, subtly gesturing to him. "Isn't he handsome?"

Alia studied the boy. She had to admit, he was quite attractive. But he didn't look like the kind of person that would involve himself in any kind of relationship. She voiced this opinion to Jacqueline, and she frowned a little.

"I know," she said. "He doesn't seem very outgoing. In fact, whenever I see him, I get the impression that…he's existing in a separate world, and only half-living in the real one. Coming out partially, occasionally, but he's usually so distant. I don't really think he's been around other people much. Though maybe experience will get him to…open up a bit. Or maybe he'll try to himself! You know, try and be a little friendlier. You can see the potential for a relationship after that, right?"

"…Maybe," Alia allowed, wondering what it was exactly that Jacqueline saw in this boy.

"I really think I'd like to get to know him…if I wasn't too nervous to – !" Jacqueline made a tiny yelping noise in her throat, then hastily turned and left in the direction Dominic had gone. Alia was left completely confused as to her friend's odd behavior for a moment, until she looked up and saw the ginger-haired boy, Fabien, approaching.

"Hello," he said. Alia, standing up and returning the greeting, thought he had a soft, smooth voice. "Is your friend okay?" he asked, glancing in the direction Jacqueline had gone.

"Oh, yes, she's fine. She…just heard her brother calling her," Alia covered for her friend.

Fabien looked as though he wasn't completely convinced by this, but let it go. "You're Alia de Chagny, right?" At a nod from Alia, he continued, "I'm Fabien Giudicelli. I hear you're talented."

Alia hoped she wasn't blushing. She knew she was exceptionally talented, but she usually shied away from talking about it. "Well…everyone says I am."

"You don't like talking about it either?" Fabien said, appearing pleased. "It's good to know I'm not the only one," he explained. "It's awkward when people want me to talk about my own talent. I just don't want to sound like my mother. But people will always connect me with her anyway, no matter what I'm like."

Alia remembered Maman telling her about Fabien's mother once. Papa had just grinned, trying not to laugh, though neither of them had known about Fabien. She understood Fabien's worry.

"I know what you mean. Whenever people see me or hear me, they'll always think of my mother, too."

Fabien nodded. "Sometimes that's good, other times…not at all. You seem like a nice girl, and please don't be offended, but the only reason I came to talk to you was because you're your mother's daughter." He paused and looked up at her concernedly.

"It's all right, I know," she said, assuring him that he had not mistakenly insulted her.

"Good." Fabien glanced over his shoulder. "And speaking of mothers, I don't think ours like each other very much." Seeing Alia's slightly confused expression, he gestured into the crowd of people, which was now beginning to separate into small groups. He pointed first to Alia's mother, standing close to her father, and then a short distance away to an older woman with ginger hair like Fabien's, only much, much lighter. The two women had just noticed each other, and they exchanged hostile glares, and then turned back to what they had been doing. Fabien turned to Alia. "See what I mean?"

"You're right…" Alia said. "Why do I get the feeling they'll expect us to be rivals?"

"Because it's likely they will," Fabien replied, sighing. "At least mine will. Yours doesn't seem like the kind that will do that."

"No, probably not." Alia raised an eyebrow at him. "So, are you going to go along with it, or not?"

Fabien looked like he was weighing his options. Alia couldn't decide whether it was genuine or not until he spoke. "Well, perhaps. But not the way she expects. I'm thinking more of the friendly kind of rival. Does that make sense?"

Alia smiled. "I think so."

"Good," Fabien said. "I don't want to be cruel to you, or to anyone else for that matter, but I don't want to come off as a pushover either. According to Mother, I have a family reputation to uphold." Unlike the other times he'd talked about what his mother expected of him, this time Fabien looked as if he agreed.

"Everyone tells me I get my talent from my parents, you see. My father was great, I'm told. My mother as well…when she was my age, a long time ago," he explained, a smirk spreading across his face at the last few words. "If my talent is inherited, I just hope it comes from my father. And if not…" He glanced back at his mother again. "I only hope I'll have enough sense to know when I'm so far gone that my voice causes people physical discomfort." He shrugged. "Personally, I think Mother only dislikes your family because she's jealous. A word of warning – You're going to have to learn to deal with unfriendly competition very quickly."

"_C'est la vie_, I suppose," Alia said, although the idea slightly unnerved her. "Maybe I could ask my mother for help with that."

"That's a good idea. I think – " Fabien was cut off by a shrill call of his name, and he grimaced. "Damn it," he muttered. "Mother saw me." He looked apologetically at Alia. "I should go. But I have to say, it was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you, too," Alia said. She could see why Jacqueline liked him; he seemed like a smart, well-mannered boy, as well as a handsome one.

Fabien turned and took a few steps away, then stopped and turned back to Alia, wearing a different expression that she couldn't quite name. "Your friend from before," he asked slowly. "What's her name?"

"Jacqueline. Her name's Jacqueline."

"Jacqueline…" Fabien said the name carefully, trying out the sound. "I like that name." Then he turned and walked off.

Alia briefly wondered what to do, now that she had been left alone, and then smiled as the obvious answer came to her. Jacqueline had mentioned a boy she was fairly sure she had known. Whether he was actually here or not didn't matter. She had to at least try to find her childhood friend, didn't she? The thought of seeing Gabriel again after nearly ten years excited her beyond belief. As she ventured into the throng of people, she could almost see his bright smile.

~0~

_How beautiful she's become,_ thought Gabriel Renard. Perhaps his first thought after laying eyes on Alia de Chagny after so long should have been more meaningful, but who can decide what thoughts fly into their heads, seemingly of their own accord? _How beautiful._

At first he could only stare, frozen, amazed at how the shy little girl he'd remembered had blossomed into this lovely, graceful young woman. Smooth, deep brown hair that fell in perfect waves to just past her shoulder blades. Blue eyes, very different from her father's, much lighter and kinder, like the sky on a perfect, blissful day. A slender, petite dancer's body. One thing hadn't seemed to have changed – her sweet, good-natured disposition.

She hadn't noticed him yet – she was carrying on a conversation with a girl a little older than her at the moment – but he had heard she was here with her family, and the people he had asked about her had pointed him over here. He had been worried he wouldn't recognize her now, but he shouldn't have worried, there was no mistaking her. The problem was, would she recognize him? Would she even remember her old playmate? He smiled a little as he remembered the last time they had seen each other, when Alia had been six years old and he had been seven. She had had the same fear: that if they ever saw each other again after Gabriel had to move away, they would have changed too much to recognize each other. But his practical little companion had thought of a solution to their dilemma that had sounded just perfect to his seven-year-old ears.

Gabriel's right hand tightened around the small necklace she had given him that day. If they met again, she had said, he could give her back the necklace and she would know it was him. He had thought of her very often since they had been separated, and he'd played out their reunion in his head countless times. He knew what he was going to do and say, but there was always a different reaction from Alia. And now she was right there, but his mind was blank. He couldn't predict what she would say or do now, or if she'd even remember him even with the necklace. It worried him still. In fact, he was almost a little nervous about their reunion. But the other girl had gone, and Alia was by herself. If he was going to talk to her, it had to be now. Clutching the necklace in his hand, he made his way up to Alia.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle," he said, and she turned around and looked at him curiously. He couldn't hold back a smile as he held out the necklace. "I believe this is yours."

She took it from him slowly, studying it carefully in her hand, running her fingers over the pale blue and floral white diamond-shaped beads. Gabriel had only a few moments to wonder what she was thinking, before her face broke into an elated smile, and she threw her arms around him. "Gabriel!"

Gabriel's grin broadened as he wrapped his arms around her in response. "Yes," he murmured, happiness starting to glow in him. Why, he thought now, should he have worried? Alia pulled back and smiled at him, looking delighted.

"I'm so glad to see you again, Gabriel," she said. "But what are you doing here?"

"You remember we had to move because my mother was sick, and we had to go somewhere better for her?" Gabriel said, and he continued when Alia nodded. "Well, she died a few years later, despite that."

"Oh, Gabriel, I'm sorry," Alia said softly.

"It's all right," he assured her. "I don't remember much of it. But anyway, my father and I both missed our old home, but we did like our new one, and according to Father, there were good opportunities for him there. So he decided we would stay. But I always wanted to come back here. And when we heard that this opera house was being reopened, I was able to convince Father to come back to Paris, so I could involve myself here. I never expected to find you here, though!"

Alia smiled. "I didn't think I'd see you here either." She glanced down at the necklace in her hand, running her thumb over it. "You took good care of this, didn't you?"

"It was all I had to remember you by."

"Thank you," she said, grinning up at him. "Although it's a bit too small to be a necklace for me now…" She considered this for a moment, and then slipped the necklace around her wrist as a bracelet. "There! That's better."

"Perfect fit," Gabriel agreed. "It still looks lovely on you."

"Thanks," Alia said. "So tell me, Gabriel…How have you been? You tell me about your life now and I'll tell you about mine. We've got ten years' worth of stories to tell, you know."

Gabriel grinned. "All right, we'll share our stories, then." As Alia, already talking, took his wrist and led him to a less populated part of the room where they could speak in relative privacy, Gabriel realized just how happy he was to be reunited with his childhood best friend.

~0~

Alia could hardly believe she was seeing her old friend here, of all places. During the ten or so minutes that they talked, he'd shown her how his singing voice had improved, which was why he'd wanted to be here in the first place. When they were children, he'd sang like a mouse with a sore throat. Now his voice was strong and sweet, and she liked it a lot. She also marveled at the other physical changes that had occurred. The short-haired, rangy boy she'd remembered had matured into a tall, stocky, confident young man. Not to mention a handsome-looking one. His dark walnut-colored hair had grown longer, and he kept it pulled back in a short ponytail, and he'd developed a more pronounced olive complexion.

Then again, he still retained the best qualities she'd remembered from their childhood. He was still the calm, intelligent and friendly boy she'd met as a little girl. And his smile would always be the same. She was overjoyed at the fact that they'd be able to continue their friendship.

"Alia!" she heard someone call her name. She turned around and saw Jacqueline trotting up to them.

"Jacqueline? What is it?"

"The managers want everybody to gather at the stage area. Some kind of opening address or something. Anyway, you and…er…" Jacqueline broke off, her eyes flicking nervously from Gabriel to Alia to the floor and back.

"Gabriel, this is Jacqueline Giry. Jacqueline, this is Gabriel Renard," Alia said, smiling at her friend's shocked reaction. "We were good friends when we were children," she explained.

"Oh!" Jacqueline said, unsure of how to respond. "It's a pleasure to meet you, monsieur."

"The pleasure is all mine, mademoiselle," Gabriel said. "Alia's told me a lot about you."

Jacqueline shot Alia a glance that clearly said, "_What did you tell him?", _but before Alia could reassure her that everything she had said about her was good, Gabriel spoke up.

"It sounds to me like you've been a very good friend," he said. "Alia speaks very highly of you."

Jacqueline promptly flushed crimson and giggled nervously, looking down at the floor, and Alia mentally sighed at her friend's apparent inability to compose herself around good-looking boys. Hopefully, she'd get over it soon. "If they need everyone, then we should go," she said, to avert an awkward situation. Gesturing for Gabriel and Jacqueline to follow her, she strode off for where she and Jacqueline had been sitting earlier. This, she felt, was going to get interesting.

~0~

"I won't be seen," Luc assured his brother, for what seemed like the thousandth time. Despite the fact that Erik had taught him nearly everything he knew, he still worried about his safety. Luc understood that, to some extent, but Erik had never had any fear for himself when he had done this himself. Luc had developed that same confidence in his own skill. "Trust me," he said, extending his hand.

Erik still looked doubtful, but he wordlessly handed Luc his note. This would be more difficult now, Erik had told him before they had gone topside, now that Madame Giry was not there to deliver his notes anymore and they had to do it themselves. But Luc didn't worry. Erik had taught him how to navigate all areas of the opera house, as it was necessary to learn if one was going to live there like Erik did, and Luc had run through the catwalks above the stage many times, with Erik or on his own. The fact that all those other times the opera house had been deserted with no one but Erik to see him, and that this time was very, very different, meant little to him. He was perfectly capable of this.

"Remember, Luc," Erik said softly. "You go in, you drop the note, and then you get back here."

"I know," Luc said. "Don't worry, brother, it won't take ten seconds." With that, Luc crept out and approached the highest catwalk. He went slowly at first, and then broke out into a quick, controlled sprint onto the catwalk. The wood would support his weight easily; the scent of newness still emanated faintly from it. Luc knew he made no noise. He had adopted his brother's habit of silent movement, wherever he went. He made his way to the middle of the catwalk on velvet steps; ghostlike, some would say, he thought with a smirk.

He let the sealed envelope fall from his fingers in a perfect position. It would float down right in front of the two managers, who looked to him as pompous and foolish as Erik had described them, but by the time anyone realized what was happening, he and his brother would be gone. He turned around and bolted silently back the way he had come, and he glanced back just to see if there was any reaction yet. To his surprise, he saw a pair of deep brown eyes lock with his.

_Damn,_ he thought, inwardly grimacing at the realization that he had been spotted. Then his mind put a name to the face, and he smiled. _You won't tell, will you, Meg?_ Erik's old friend and sister figure to them both had offered to help the pair the way her mother had, but Erik hadn't wanted her to. She had a family of her own to take care of and enough to worry about without helping them as well. _Besides, _thought Luc, _Erik's always got me for that._

"Let's go," Luc whispered when he got back to Erik, slipping into a small, unused back room and pushing back a small part of the wall. He ducked through the newly made entrance, hearing the quiet sounds of Erik following him, and strode quickly back down to their underground home.

~0~

"…And I hope that we will enjoy much success in this new season of business at the Opera Populaire," Firmin finished, grinning at the flurry of approving sounds from the listening people that followed it. However, the grin dropped quickly from his face as a small movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see the small envelope drifting serenely down from above.

His expression a mixture of shock and horror, Firmin half-consciously reached up and caught the envelope in his hand. The crimson wax skull sealing it left no room for questions as to who it had been sent by. Firmin heard Andre gulp.

"It's a note from the Opera Ghost," he said, his voice shaking slightly, causing alarmed exclamations and whispers from the surrounding people. Firmin looked up to assess the condition of his workers and performers, and his eyes lighted on Fabien. He was surprised to see the change in the boy's disposition. The formerly calm and reserved boy now looked positively menacing as he glared upwards, his emerald eyes blazing and his lips curled into a snarl. He looked furious, and Firmin wondered if his anger was directed at the Phantom.

He turned his attention back to the envelope. Unnerved by the sightless 'eyes' in the skull-shaped seal staring at him, he hurriedly opened it and withdrew the note inside. He read it out loud,

"_Fondest greetings to you all. I welcome you all back to the Opera Populaire, and I trust that the running of my theater will go more smoothly than before. I fear you have seen far too much of what can and will happen, should my wrath be aroused. But I can be flexible. I am certain my managers have already been informed that I will not cause any deliberate harm, but only under certain conditions…" _

Firmin glanced in the general direction of the de Chagnys. The Vicomte, who had brought him the news that the Phantom was still alive but did not intend to harm anybody so long as his conditions were filled, was only half-listening; his main focus was on his family, with one arm wrapped around his wife's shoulders and the other around his daughter's midsection, keeping them close and safe while his eyes searched the catwalks. The former Miss Daae was doing the same, though (surprisingly, he thought) she looked far less apprehensive. Alia didn't look frightened or nervous at all, merely curious. Firmin thought she seemed more interested in what the note said than the man who had written it. He turned back to the paper and continued to read.

"…_First, you must know that I am far more experienced and knowledgeable when it comes to the arts than the pair currently running my theater, who I now address. I ask that you acknowledge that, and accept my well-meant advice without letting pride get in your way. This also means that my salary is to be paid. This, if you recall, was the original cause of my anger, so I do not expect this mistake to be repeated. I assure you though; you are not wasting your money for nothing. The advice I give is meant to improve a performance. A side effect of that is that better shows mean more profit to gain from it, you understand; not to mention you'll also be maintaining your safety. However, I feel that the pair of you may need further persuasion, so I am willing to lower the price of my compliance to 15,000 francs. I only hope you will have enough sense to obey this time. Second, if I have resolved not to harm anyone, I must not be disturbed either. Believe me when I say that if you try to find me, it will not turn out well for you. I sincerely promise you that. And I think that this is a good time to make you aware that I am not alone now. Yes, I'd like to make the existence of my apprentice known. I have taught him to do everything I can do, and if I do not see or hear something, he will. And you should know that he does not take well to being attacked, and he is the revengeful type. You do not want to evoke his anger any more than mine, so you would do well to keep away from us. Now, as long as these conditions are met, there need be no trouble between us and you. I trust you will have the sense to do what is best. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant – O.G." _

Firmin gulped as he finished reading. The Phantom's apprentice?

"Two of them," he said, thoroughly unnerved. "Andre," he said in a low voice to his partner. "We're going to have to do as he says, aren't we?"

Andre nodded quickly. "No point in bringing on another disaster," he agreed. "Perhaps we'll be safe this time."

~0~

_What is he doing?_ Gabriel wondered, pushing open the door to a currently deserted part of the opera house and venturing inside. He was sure he had seen Fabien storm off this way. He had met the boy close to a year ago, and they'd become relatively good friends. Perhaps this had to do with what always seemed to be troubling him.

Gabriel heard noise and movement somewhere to his left. He pushed aside some crates and ducked under rope-laden wooden beams, and then caught sight of his red-haired friend in a fairly shadowy corner of the room. Even his breathing sounded harsh and angry. "Fabien?" Gabriel said quietly, and Fabien whipped around, startled.

"Gabriel?" he said, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, my friend." Gabriel stepped closer to him. "What's the matter? Are you all right?"

Fabien looked at the ground. "Fine," he ground out.

Gabriel frowned. "I don't think so."

"What makes you think that?" Fabien said sharply. "I'm all right, Gabriel, no need to ask me – "

"The meaning behind what you were saying earlier?"

Fabien's head whipped back to face Gabriel, and Gabriel knew he knew he was caught.

When the managers had mentioned the infamous Opera Ghost before, it had seemed to ignite something in Fabien. Gabriel remembered clearly the look or pure rage in his eyes as he glared up at the catwalks, searching for a glimpse of the Phantom. But what had disturbed Gabriel the most was what he had heard Fabien hissing under his breath, so quietly that only Gabriel and his mother (who had stood on either side of him) could hear.

"_Dove sei…? Vigliacco, vieni fuori così posso ucciderti," _Gabriel repeated Fabien's words softly. "Did you forget I understand Italian? Did you not want me to hear that, Fabien? We both know what it means."

Fabien grimaced, and Gabriel knew the translation was running through his mind as well: _Where are you…? You coward, come out so I can kill you._

"So, Fabien?" Gabriel said. "Care to explain?" He kept his voice casual, but worry for the younger boy was growing in him.

Fabien kept up his hard glare for a minute, then gave in, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. "All right," he said, "but you're my closest friend, Gabriel. If I am to tell you what I've been keeping hidden, I need your word that you will not reveal it to anyone. You cannot even tell my mother I told you. Please?"

Gabriel deliberated for a moment, and then solemnly nodded his head.

Fabien looked calmer now, but it seemed to Gabriel that he had never appeared so intense before. "You know what happened here last time, right? Specifically, what happened to my parents?"

Gabriel nodded again. "There were murders. Your father was killed," he said, hoping his quiet words would not evoke pain in his friend.

"Yes," Fabien said, his voice soft and dark. "Father died…and left Mother alone with me. I grew up never knowing my father, and knowing that he'd never even know I existed. I'd lost my father before I was even born…" Fabien paused, his gaze turning downward. Gabriel saw something flash in his bright green eyes. Was it pain?

"I understand," Gabriel said softly, as faint memories of his mother came up to remind him of his own childhood loss.

Fabien looked up, staring Gabriel in the eyes. "I know. You told me about your mother…you understand. You know how it hurts…I think some people would think it's not as bad, losing a parent, if you didn't even know each other…but they'd be wrong. It did hurt…badly…For both Mother and for me."

Gabriel said nothing (what was there to say?), but he was beginning to understand where Fabien was going with this, and he didn't think he liked it.

Fabien continued. "I was around six years old when I finally decided to ask Mother why every other child I'd met had a father, and I had been left without one. She told me everything and I was left stunned and upset…and with a desire to somehow get back at my father's murderer. I didn't understand how that was going to happen at that age, of course, but…"

Gabriel's stomach dropped. He knew what was coming. "Fabien…"

"…I know now," Fabien said softly. He pulled back his jacket slightly, revealing a small sheath on his belt, from which he pulled out a gleaming nine-inch knife. "I didn't come here just to pursue a career, Gabriel," he said. "Mother wanted me to do that as well, but we're here - _I'm_ here for another reason, one that's entirely personal…"

"You want to kill him," Gabriel breathed.

"Yes, that's right. To avenge my father's death."

"But, Fabien, think about what you want to do," Gabriel said earnestly. "You're thinking about hunting down and killing the Phantom of the Opera. That's got to be impossible. An entire mob went after him all those years ago, including a group of armed gendarmes, and he survived. What makes you think you can go after him alone?"

"Because I've been trained to," Fabien said, running his thumb along the silvery surface of the blade. "I know how to use this, and more. Those others, they didn't have their hearts in what they were doing. For me…It's a purpose I've given myself."

"If your purpose is to live a life of revenge, then once you've got it what do you have left?"

"Doesn't matter," Fabien said. He fixed Gabriel with a sharp stare. "Gabriel, don't try to talk me out of this. Put yourself in my position, maybe. What if it hadn't been disease that destroyed your mother? What if something living and conscious of its actions had done that to her? Wouldn't you want to make it pay for hurting you so badly? And you spent most of your life thinking about it, always dwelling on it – on the need to take vengeance on it for your pain and the pain of your loved ones?"

Gabriel swallowed hard. He didn't like to admit it, but he could see the point in Fabien's words. He remembered his mother, just before she died. His memories were vague and blurry, but he remembered how she had been. Frail and sick, her condition rapidly deteriorating, with only a trace of her former beauty left, and even her smile had been full of pain. "Yes…I would. It's not something to forgive, is it?" he said slowly.

"No," Fabien said with finality. "Never. And, Gabriel, remember you cannot tell anyone of this. I wouldn't want word of my intentions to reach that monster. You can imagine how badly that might turn out to be."

"You have my word," Gabriel promised. "And besides, you're the one with the knife here. I'm not really in a position to disagree."

Fabien looked surprised at his words. "Gabriel, I wouldn't harm you!" he said. "I don't intend to hurt anyone else. Why would I want to? The Phantom is my only target, though I wouldn't hesitate to go after his apprentice too." He flipped the knife in his hand. "But I wouldn't use this on anybody else. No one but them deserves it."

"But you intend to become a killer," Gabriel said softly.

"No," Fabien disagreed. "An avenger, that's all I am." He eyed the knife again. "That monster killed my father. I'm just going to return the favor."

~0~

Almost as soon as they made it back home, Erik turned his head and demanded of his brother, "Were you seen?"

Luc smirked, remembering Meg. "Yes," he said flippantly.

"What?" Erik shouted, whipping around with a look of surprise and anger on his face.

"Calm down, brother," Luc said quickly, raising his hand. "It was just Meg."

Erik visibly relaxed, but a trace of irritation remained. "Don't do that, Luc," he growled.

"Don't do what?" Luc said, his smirk broadening. He was trying his luck, he knew, but it was a bit hard to resist. "You asked me a question, and I gave an honest answer. What's wrong?"

As he expected, Erik remained silent, and just glared; but Luc knew he wasn't upset with him. "I'm going to rest for a while," he said. "Running around all day amid all that brightness and color and noise…I think I need a little peaceful darkness."

At a nod from Erik, Luc turned, ducked under the dark blue curtain that hung to his left, and walked into his bedroom, his footsteps against the stone floor making only the smallest of noises. His room was simple, to his mind. The bed stood on the left side, opposite the bookcase, with the small chest that held some of his possessions at the foot of it. His sword lay on top of the chest, gleaming in the light from the burning candle on the table at the far end of the room. Luc strode over to the desk, looking over the many compositions that littered its surface, then to the baby grand piano that dominated the far left corner. He absently ran his fingers over the keys, improvising a short melody, before sitting down on his bed.

His eyes turned to his journal, which he'd left lying on the pillow. Today was one of the most eventful in his life, and it was best to write things down while they were fresh in your mind. But where was he supposed to start? With him and Erik watching from above as all those people poured in? With Erik's descriptions of those he recognized and remembered, or Luc's own thoughts on them? With the subtle changes he had noticed that the restoration crew had made? With his note-delivering escapade on the catwalks? With the people that had made an impression on him? Or… Luc bit his lip, almost embarrassed to think about it. One of the greatest impressions that had been made on him had been of Jacqueline's friend – the de Chagnys' daughter.

He knew Meg well – her mother tolerated him, but Meg had genuinely liked him right from when they'd first met, when he was eight, and he considered her a good friend – but neither he nor Erik had ever met her children. It didn't matter much, though; they were fine keeping it that way. Meg had kept up her relationship with Luc and Erik, but kept it secret from her family. She'd been eager to tell Luc and Erik all about them, though, and Luc knew a little bit about them. But he barely knew anything about the gorgeous girl that for a reason he couldn't fathom he couldn't get his mind off of. While watching her, he'd disregarded his opinion of her parents and focused on her alone. He hadn't heard her speak, but from her actions, she'd seemed like a lovely girl; sweet and friendly as well as pretty. Maybe she took after her mother.

Luc sighed and lay back on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head. It had been an exciting day, but an exhausting one. He wasn't used to this much activity. He slowly let his eyelids close, resolving to sort out and record his thoughts in the morning, and let his tired body and mind pull him into the darkness of a dreamless sleep.

**~0~**

**Kaen: Whew, this chapter was a bear to write. But at least all of the main OCs have been introduced, and I finally updated this story! ***_**turns to characters**_*** So how do you like it guys?**

**Erik: Fine. I like it.**

**Luc: Great! I knew I was a ninja!**

**Raoul: No.**

**Luc&Erik: What?**

**Alia: ***_**reproachfully**_*** Daddy!**

**Kaen: Your reasons, Vicomte?**

**Raoul: I don't like this! You make me look like a jerk, sound like a jerk, and reviewers hit me over the head with frying pans!**

**Kaen, Erik, Luc: You deserved it.**

**Raoul: Hmph. ***_**random frying pan falls down and hits him in the head**_*** OW! **

**Kaen: Oh, come on, fop, I'm making this better for you than you're giving me credit for. Christine loves you, Erik is single, and your kid is actually yours. Do you have any idea how rare those things are in this fandom, especially that last one? Let alone all three?**

**Raoul: Well…I guess so. I'll give it time.**

**Kaen: Good. Glad to hear feedback from you guys, but what about you, readers? I'd really like to have reviews rolling into my inbox! I could thrive off them! How did you like the chapter? Who was your favorite OC? Come on, I need feedback, people!**

**Erik: Kaen, begging isn't going to work well. Don't some other writers use creative gimmicks to get their readers to review the story?**

**Kaen: Yeah, but I don't want to be gimmicky! **

**Luc: Oh! Kaen, I've got an idea! ***_**whispers it in her ear**_*****

**Kaen: Oh…Luc…That's…BRILLIANT! Erik! Restrain the fop!**

**Erik: ***_**evil grin**_*** With pleasure.**

**Raoul: Wait, wha – **

**Erik: ***_**pushes Raoul into a chair and ties him up**_*****

**Kaen: That was fast.**

**Raoul: Hey! What are you doing? What's going on?**

**Kaen: Fop…The time has come.**

**Raoul: For what, exactly?**

**Kaen: You are getting a haircut.**

**Erik: ***_**grins evilly and produces a razor**_*** Mwahahahaha…**

**Raoul: ***_**struggles**_*** NOOOOOOOOOOO! NOT MY HAIR! NOT MY LONG, LUSCIOUS, BEAUTIFUL HAIR! PLEASE, DON'T DO THIS TO ME! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!**

**Erik: You know, you were a lot calmer when I was threatening to kill you and take your fiancée away from you forever…**

**Raoul: Screw my life and family, I wanna keep my hair!**

**Kaen: Wow, way to be, fop…Anyway! Erik's not the one who will decide your fate this time, it's the reviewers! Okay, guys, here's what you do – If you want Raoul to get a haircut, review this story! If you don't want to save Raoul from his haircut, review this story!**

**Luc: ***_**grin**_*** And if you want Alia to –**

**Alia: If you dare finish that sentence, I'll rip off one of your legs and bludgeon you to death with it. **

**Kaen: …Oh my God, I did NOT just use not one but TWO adamwestslapdog jokes…**

**Raoul: What? But – But that's a no-win situation!**

**Erik: Yes, I'm quite good at creating those. ***_**moves razor toward Raoul's hair**_*****

**Raoul: ***_**panics**_*** What? No! Oh my God! Help! 'Lia, save me! Alia! Do something! Get your mother! Help me! Wait a minute… ***_**gears click in his head as he remembers the last time Erik had him in a no-win situation**_*** 'Lia, that's it! Get your mother! GET YOUR MOTHER!**

**Erik: ***_**singing**_*** Nothing can save you now, except perhaps – Oh, wait a minute, not even Christine can save you now! Mwahahahaha!**

**Raoul: ALIA!**

**Alia: Er…I don't know… ***_**thinks about it**_*****

**Luc: ***_**puts hand on her shoulder**_*** Hey, think about this, **_**cherie – **_**If he gets a haircut, he'll look less feminine! Wouldn't you and your mom prefer the Ryan Silverman look? **

**Alia: ***_**brightens**_*** Oh, yes! Hey, Erik, can you make him look like Ramin Karimloo? **

**Erik: ***_**grin**_*** I'll try.**

**Raoul: I seriously wish I could facepalm right now…**

**Kaen: Okay, enough with you, Vicomte. Luc, Alia, you come with me. We're going to run through the musical themes of this chapter!**

**Luc&Alia: Yay!**

**Kaen: Erik, you stay here and guard the fop.**

**Erik: Gladly. ***_**grins evilly at Raoul**_*****

**Raoul: ***_**gulp**_*** Oh no…**

*****_**In other room**_*****

**Kaen: Okay, so the main theme of this chapter is the Phantom of the Opera overture. **

**Luc: Kaen prefers the movie version of it, but you can take your pick of the musical or movie version.**

**Kaen: Andre and Firmin's theme is 'Rufus' Welcoming Ceremony' from Final Fantasy VII, composed by the brilliant Nobuo Uematsu. (Search YouTube user Cloud183 for all FF7 music mentioned, if the videos don't get taken down.) The tune communicates a new start and a big event and just the slightest bit of ego…**

**Alia: And in the midst of it all, there's a redhead who could care less… ***_**looks at Fabien**_*****

**Kaen: Okay…Fabien's revenge theme is the Italian version of 'My Lullaby' from Lion King II.**

**Fabien: ***_**singing**_*** **_**Sono stata esiliata, sono sola ed indifesa. **_**[I was exiled, I am alone and defenseless]**

**Luc: You like that movie way too much, Kaen.**

**Fabien: ***_**singing**_*** **_**Sono stata umiliata, **_*****_**draws knife**_*****_** mi sento molto offesa. **_**[I was humiliated, I feel very offended]**

**Kaen: Yes, I know…But it's the best of the Disney sequels! Anyway, to get the best translation I could find, on YouTube search 'Lion King 2-My Lullaby-Italian Subs&Trans' and select the video by gotipoison.**

**Fabien: ***_**singing**_*** **_**Ma ho un sogno nel cassetto, chi mi rende assai vivace. **_**[But I have a hidden dream, that makes me really chirpy]**

**Gabriel: Fabien? Chirpy? Dear God, the world's going to explode!**

**Fabien: ***_**singing**_*** **_**Mi fa sempre bell'effetto, e ritrovo la mia pace. **_**[It always gives me a good feeling, and I find again my peace]**

**Alia: Is that a good thing or a bad thing?**

**Fabien: ***_**singing**_*** **_**Il Fantasma passa a miglior vita! **_**[The Phantom goes to the next life!]**

**Gabriel: ***_**loudly pretends to die**_*****

**Fabien: ***_**singing**_*** **_**Con lui il fratello tanto amata! **_**[With him the brother he loved so much!]**

**Gabriel: ***_**looks at Alia**_*****

**Alia: Don't even think about it.**

**Kaen: Anyway, I think the Polish and Italian versions of this song are the best, and I thought since Fabien is Italian, why not use this version? The lyrics and the laugh at the end are great, and it's definitely one of the more psychopathic versions.**

**Fabien: ***_**singing**_*** **_**Son finalmente morti, osanna! **_**[They're finally dead, hosanna!]**

**Kaen: …And I think Fabien likes that best.**

**Fabien: ***_**singing**_*** **_**E'la mia ninna-nanna! **_**[It's my lullaby!]**

**Kaen: Moving on. The theme of Gabriel and Alia's meeting and conversation is 'Holding My Thoughts in My Heart' from Final Fantasy VII. It's a peaceful little song, which, coupled with the point in the game it plays, has a feeling that soon anything could happen.**

**Gabriel: You really need to get a PS3. I want to play that game so badly…**

**Kaen: As do I. Unfortunately, all we can do is watch walkthroughs and anticipate the day when we can finally play that masterpiece…**

**Luc: Moving on?**

**Kaen: Yes. The theme for Luc and Erik sneaking around the catwalks is the 'Shadow Temple theme' from Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, composed by Koji Kondo. (Search YouTube user Renegade466isback for OOT music, if the videos aren't taken down.)**

**Alia: Now, that masterpiece we can play on the Wii, thanks to your Collector's Edition disc thing…**

**Luc: ***_**playing game***_**Yeah! I'm out of Kokiri Forest and I'm going on epic adventures and everything's grea – Wait, what's that? Oh, God, no; no, no, no, no, no, no, no – NOT THAT FREAKIN' OWL! Nooooooooo! ***_**bashes head against the back of the couch**_*****

**Kaen: I've got no idea why I settled on this theme, it's what I was listening to while writing the scene and it just felt kind of right. And the theme for when Firmin reads the note is also from Ocarina of Time – 'Ganondorf's Theme'.**

**Luc: Ominous stuff there…**

**Kaen: And finally, the theme of Fabien revealing his plans of revenge to Gabriel is 'Black Water' from Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, also composed by Nobuo Uematsu.**

**Alia: And now, finally, we are entirely done with this bear of a chapter!**

**Kaen: Excellence… ***_**falls back on couch while the Serenade of Water (Ocarina of Time) plays in the background**_*** Still, I can't wait to get started on the next one. Rest assured, dear readers, I have no intentions of stopping this story!**

**Luc: Regardless of how slow your updates come…**

**Kaen: I'll tell you to shut up later, Luc. It's late and I have my first day of high school tomorrow. I'm tired… ***_**curls up on couch**_*****

**R&R?**

**Raoul: Yes, please do! Find some way to help me!**

**Erik: ***_**raises razor**_*** Shut up, or I'm going Sweeney Todd on you!**

**Raoul: ***_**whimpers**_*** Please…Do it to save the poor fop…**

**~0~**


	7. Chapter 7

**Kaen: Oh my GOD…I haven't updated this since LAST YEAR. *headdesk* I AM the crappiest updater on FF…**

**Alia: Well, you've just been lazy with this story. You were working on your Hunger Games story, that Of Mice and Men oneshot, and your Death Note songfic.**

**Kaen: True, but I think this one is in desperate need of an update. And since I've gotten no reviews at ALL for the last five chapters of my Hunger Games fic, I'm going to focus on this one now. Everyone will think I've abandoned you guys if I wait any longer! **

**Erik: But before that, didn't you have some changes to make?**

**Kaen: Oh, yes! After seeing Phantom25 for the first time, I felt that some casting changes were in order. **_***clears throat and shakes out paper* **_

**-My Erik is now Ramin Karimloo. He's probably the best Phantom I've ever seen, not to mention my imagined picture of Luc looks a lot more like him than Gerard Butler. Also, I think Ramin-Erik would be more likely to adopt and teach young Luc than Gerik would. **

**-My Raoul is now Hadley Fraser. He's a stronger, more passionate Raoul than Patrick Wilson, and he seems much more likely to be overprotective of his daughter, the way Raoul is going to be in this story.**

**-Luc's singing voice is now a combination of the best elements of Michael Crawford and Ramin Karimloo. No trace of Gerard Butler in there anywhere. And as for Alia, I imagine her singing voice as Sierra Boggess. It's PERFECT for her.**

**All right, I'll be quiet now. **

**~0~**

"Erik? Can I ask you something, brother?"

Erik turned away from the organ, on which he had just finished playing an older piece of his, and looked at the boy on the other side of the room. "Yes," he said. "What is it, Luc?"

"I was wondering," Luc said, with the air of someone who'd thought carefully over his words, "when you were asked not to harm anyone when the opera house opened again – "

"Why I said yes?" Erik guessed.

Luc hesitated before nodding. "That, but I was wondering why you agreed so quickly. You usually don't do that; just agree to someone's demands without a word."

"Yes, normally I'm the one giving the orders," Erik agreed. "The explanation is simple: It was in our best interests to agree. I've already had a mob hunt me down with intent to kill once; I don't wish for it to happen again. Especially," he added, "not now that I've got you to look after, and it's not just my safety I have to worry about."

Luc frowned. "I told you, Erik, I can take care of myself."

"Your experience is with hiding in the shadows and fighting a small group at most," Erik countered. "You've never been faced with the possibility of dozens of armed men chasing you down to kill you, and I would prefer that you never do."

"I can understand that," Luc reasoned, before moving a little towards one of the tunnels that led topside and adding, "And Erik, if you don't mind, I'd like to –"

Erik smiled. "Yes, Luc, you can go and watch them rehearse. It's become your favorite pastime, hasn't it?"

Luc grinned. "It's been very…interesting, to say the least." With that, he turned around and hurried into the tunnel. As he traveled through the shadowy passage, he thought about the events of the past few weeks. The opera house was successful so far and its affairs were running smoothly, meaning it was always busy now and never quiet at all. Luc might have resented this disturbance of his peace, if he hadn't found it all so fascinating. He had never seen anything quite like it, and he felt lucky to have the opportunity to observe it all like no one else could.

He loved watching the performers practice; the singers in particular were very good, though he thought there was certainly room for improvement, and that Erik could certainly help them there. Meg's children had clearly inherited the talents of their parents – Jacqueline danced gracefully and skillfully, and Dominic had remarkable talent with his flute and piano. Erik had an especially low opinion of La Carlotta, but he and Luc agreed that her son, despite this, had an excellent voice, and could easily become just as good a tenor as his father had been. However, though Luc enjoyed every bit of the activity he looked over; there was one thing he always loved the most, one voice he always longed to hear…

To his delight, the familiar strains of the young soprano's song reached his ears as he neared the end of the tunnel, and a grin unfurled on his face. He emerged from the tunnel, which led to one of the many little places he and Erik could watch all the goings-on of the opera house, high above the action with perfect view of every little thing, without being discovered, and peered out over the stage. Yes, there she was; on the left side of the stage, getting vocal lessons from her mother.

Luc had heard the phrase 'voice of an angel' before, but he had never really thought there was such a thing until he heard Alia sing. He knew it sounded so ridiculously sentimental to say so, but it was true – he had never before heard anything as lovely or, for that matter, seen anything as beautiful as her in his life. As he hid there in the shadows, letting her voice wash over him, he couldn't help but recall when he had first heard it, quite by chance, two days after he had first seen Alia, when he was doing just this.

He'd been coming down a different passage, on his way to the managers' office to deliver another one of Erik's notes concerning the cellists, when the sound of a girl's singing reached his ears. Erik had told him to deliver it quickly, but Luc had been very interested in finding out which singers – new and old – had talent, and from what he could hear this voice was excellent. So he had decided that he could afford to take a small detour in order to find the voice's owner, and he had hurried away in search of her. When he had reached the source of the sound, he had been exceptionally pleased, but not at all surprised, to see that it was Alia. He had heard that she had been taught by her mother most of her life, at her own request, and Luc and Erik had had no doubt of her talent. However, Luc had not expected the feelings that stirred in him when he heard Alia sing.

She had been ending her practice as Luc arrived, and he had been quite disappointed that he had been late. But one of the managers – Andre, Luc thought his name was – had approached her and her mother, praised Alia for her lovely voice, and asked if she would be so kind as to give them all a special solo. Alia had gone crimson at his request and shrank back shyly, murmuring something Luc couldn't hear, and glancing nervously at her mother as though asking her what to do.

Christine smiled and made an encouraging sort of gesture toward Alia. Hesitant but apparently reassured, Alia had stepped forward and, with one glance around the theater, closed her eyes and began to sing. And Luc had listened to her, frozen and mesmerized, as her voice made his heart stir. In fact, Luc realized, bringing his mind back to the present, she was singing the same song now as she had been then – "Think of Me" from _Hannibal._

"Think of me…think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye…" Alia sang, her voice high and angelic; certainly a soprano that would one day be on par with her mother, Erik had remarked, given the proper time and practice.

Luc closed his eyes to better let the sweet sound surround him. A soft sigh escaped him, and a contented feeling spread through his body. It occurred to him how appropriate her choice of song was. Though he had made it a point to observe each performer in order to judge their talent – and help Erik in deciding how some could improve – he had found that his attentions always inexplicably turned to Alia, one way or another. Luc had watched her more than anyone else, and he found her an intriguing person. She was shy - though she didn't like to think of herself like that – but she shared close bonds with her friends and parents; it was clear how much she cared for them. She seemed like such a nice person, Luc thought, the kind of person anyone would want to know. Or, more accurately, the kind of person _he _would love to get to know.

"Remember me…Every so often, promise me you'll try…"

At that thought, Luc snickered quietly, and he became painfully aware of the black mask that hid half his face. Him? Come to know Alia? The idea was ridiculous, and even if it were possible, it would most certainly not turn out well. Luc had learned time and time again all through his life that he was unwelcome to everyone, and the only one who would always accept him and never fear him was Erik. Luc considered it a lifetime's worth of luck that he and Erik had even come to meet in the first place, and he did not believe that he would meet someone who cared for him the way Erik did ever again. No, Luc knew his limits. Perhaps he could never even speak to Alia, but he could content himself by watching her perform and listening to her sing, never tiring of hearing that beautiful voice.

"On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free…If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me!"

Luc smiled to himself, settling in for the hours he could while away watching everything. Yes, he could be very content with that.

~0~

"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade…They have their seasons, so do we," Alia sang, preparing to put all her heart into the last notes. "But please promise me that sometime, you will think…" A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she sang the final lyrics – "Ah, of me!"

Alia waited for a moment for Maman's appraisal of her singing, and was reminded of the first time she'd sung that particular aria here, as a special rendition for Monsieur Andre. Over the course of the song, she'd gotten nearly everyone's attention, and when she had finished she had stood in silence for a moment before receiving a considerable round of applause from them. It had been a bit overwhelming, but she had rather liked it and felt quite proud of herself, especially when she saw her parents' reactions. Papa had smiled broadly and practically glowed with pride in his daughter, and Maman had put her hand on Alia's shoulder and said softly, "_Magnifique, mon doux petit," _which Alia valued most of all out of the many compliments she had received that afternoon.

She reacted the same way now, giving a quiet smile and telling her she'd done well. Papa was talking with Monsieur Firmin, but his attention was repeatedly diverted. He was trying to keep his mind on the conversation, but he didn't seem very interested, as his eyes kept flicking over to his daughter. Alia resisted the urge to giggle; her father looked like he was doing a continuous double-take, and Firmin didn't look very happy that the Vicomte's attention was not on him. Maman opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by Meg, accompanied by Jacqueline.

"Indeed, that was very good, Alia," she said. "Now, you'll join us for the dance rehearsal?"

"Of course," Alia said. She was ready to join the rest of the chorus girls, as she was already dressed for rehearsal. As she and Jacqueline hurried off to practice with the others, Alia became aware of another person with his eyes fixed on her. Gabriel had emerged from backstage, and was watching the chorus girls and pretending to be observing all of them, but he was fooling no one – anyone could see that he only had eyes for Alia. She knew that getting distracted while practicing the intricate dance that Meg had taught them would likely result in her making a mistake and messing up the practice for the other girls, so she tried her hardest to focus on the steps and not on her friend. For the most part, she was successful, but she couldn't keep from glancing over to him just once and meeting his eyes and catching a glimpse of the omnipresent content smile on his face.

The two of them had done very well so far at the opera house. Gabriel, while not the best singer and actor, was learning fast, and Alia was one of the many who thought he would do wonderfully when the time came for him to perform before an audience. As for Alia, she had been taught by her mother and Meg to sing and dance for most of her life at her request, so she shone among the other chorus girls her age. Alia was quite proud of that, but whenever anyone praised her for it like they did with her mother, she flushed crimson, looked away, and murmured a modest thank-you out of shyness. She felt somewhat awkward about it, not wanting to brag and afraid of seeming arrogant. Papa, Gabriel, Jacqueline, and Dominic all laughed kindly when she told them her reasons for being so shy about accepting praise and told her not to worry about it.

It irritated her that they didn't take her seriously, and she was grateful to the ones who did: Maman, who had taught Alia not only to sing but to avoid being too boastful if she could help it, and Fabien, who was trying very hard not to be judged as his mother over again. It could not be denied that Fabien had promising talent. The managers had asked him a few days ago if he would give them a quick private performance for them. Fabien obliged, and he sang a soft, sweet-sounding song in Italian, his alluring accent making it sound even more beautiful. Alia and Jacqueline had happened to be nearby at the time, and Jacqueline had had her head in the clouds for the rest of the day (reacting, Alia had noticed, the same way she had when Alia had mentioned that Fabien said that he liked her name. She decided that she could tolerate it, and not to try and snap her friend out of it).

However, unlike his mother, who would all but demand everyone's attention, Fabien seemed to prefer to be left alone. Upon receiving praise, Fabien would tersely and modestly thank whoever gave it, and then either change the subject or excuse himself depending on the situation, all while maintaining his calm, collected demeanor. Alia envied him; the air of cool detachment he always had seemed to allow him to go through any awkward situation easily, whereas she knew she would need a bit more practice. As Alia thought this, Jacqueline, who was next to her, suddenly looked startled, flushed scarlet, and whispered urgently, "'Lia! Look over there!"

Alia followed her eyes, caught sight of a figure emerging from what appeared to be an entrance to the lower levels of the opera house, recognizing the piercingly bright green eyes staring out of the shadows at them, practically glowing like cat's eyes in the darkness. Fabien looked mildly interested in what he was seeing; an unusual expression for him which meant he was very invested in watching the chorus girls. He normally acted quite apathetic towards his fellow performers, and Alia was puzzled for a moment as to why he was taking the time to watch their dance. Then a moment later, she noticed that Fabien's eyes were not on the dancers as a whole, but rather selectively following a certain blond, curly-haired girl near Alia…

"Alia! Jacqueline!" Meg said sharply, jolting Alia from her thoughts. "Focus, the two of you!"

"Yes, mother!" Jacqueline, who Alia now noticed had been staring in Fabien's direction, tore her eyes away from him and put renewed effort into her dance. Alia, doing the same, didn't glance back either, but couldn't help but notice the next time she happened to move that way, she saw that the doorway was empty. The burning green eyes were gone; Fabien had disappeared back into the shadows.

_What would he want to be wandering around down there for? _Alia wondered. She had come to know Fabien a little during these few weeks, and from the way he treated her, it seemed to Alia that they had become friends. But he always seemed so troubled and secretive – she nor anyone else, it appeared, had even seen him look truly happy – and she sometimes worried that whatever made him act that way might be something that could get him hurt or worse. Thinking of this, Alia decided that she would try to talk to Fabien about it. If something was going on, she reasoned, perhaps she could help him out. She liked Fabien, and she knew Jacqueline liked him quite a lot as well, and she didn't want her friend to get hurt. However, she didn't have time to think much more about it.

"Alia!" Meg called, sounding irritated.

Alia jumped slightly, and wanted to kick herself for getting so distracted. Resolving to keep the matter at the back of her mind until she could address it, she danced with as much enthusiasm as she could, trying as hard as she could not to make another mistake.

~0~

The feeling of total solitude and silence overwhelmed Fabien as he strode through the bowels of the opera house, the only sounds coming from his boots clicking on the floor and his own soft breathing. It was easy for him to think that he was all alone in the near-total darkness, but Fabien knew better than to let his senses fool him into believing that. He had met nothing else on his way, but Fabien knew that he could never be too careful. He consistently reminded himself to keep his guard up, knowing full well that the eyes of the malignant creature who had murdered his father could be following him.

Fabien had trained himself to see and fight well in the dark by going out to practice knife throwing for hours at night, so he was not worried about being caught at a time of weakness. He was armed and ready, with his favorite knife - the one he'd shown to Gabriel - in its usual sheath at his belt and several others hidden inside his jacket and boots. If it turned out that he was being followed, he thought he was perfectly capable of fighting his way out of any danger.

To anyone else, Fabien was wandering around the unfamiliar areas of the opera house, and judging by the mild, curious expression on his face only having an innocent look around. However, Fabien had a far more serious objective – If there was any clue to finding out how to catch and kill the Phantom, there was a good chance of it being in a place he was likely to have frequented. Fabien had decided to start his hunt down here, near the underbelly of the opera house. It was dimly lit, dank, and musty; the perfect place for a creature such as him to reside, Fabien thought grimly.

A sudden loud creak and then a snap made Fabien jump horribly. Entirely unnerved, Fabien stared wide-eyed in the direction the noise had come from, his hand dropping instinctively to his knife. He stood shell-shocked for a second before hearing a stagehand yell in surprise from the floor above and grind out a few choice words. Breathing hard, Fabien remained frozen and shaking for a few moments more as the sound of the grumbling stagehand stomping away, before his mind registered what had happened: From the noise he had heard and the light streaming through the splintered wood now above him, the man must have stepped through some of the old wood that the restoration crew had left.

Once he had put together that he had not been startled by the murderer on his mind, but by what was really nothing at all, Fabien straightened up and huffed in annoyance, feeling rather foolish and angry that he had acted in such a way. _Some trained killer you are, jumping at every sound like a frightened rabbit, _he chastised himself, grimacing.

Not only had he been so pathetically easily scared, he had also allowed himself to become lost in his own thoughts, for the second time in the half-hour he had been down here. Having his eye drawn by Jacqueline Giry's exceptionally graceful dancing to the point where he actually paused to watch for a minute and then getting so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he paid no attention to his surroundings were things he just could not do. He could not lose focus, whatever he did. Fabien steeled his nerves once more and continued on, drawing his knife and keeping it ready to use at a moment's notice.

Despite the fact that he was prepared with an array of blades and the skill and training to use them if he had to, Fabien was forced to admit that his confidence had been slightly shaken. Making sure to pay extra attention to his surroundings was a smart idea, so there wouldn't be anything else he didn't see coming, but it didn't exactly ease his nervousness. As he turned a corner, his eyes roving carefully around the area, he began to sing, softly and almost unconsciously, to calm himself.

It was, he noticed, the same song he had obligingly sung for the managers when they asked him to. Fabien hadn't particularly felt like it at the time (having been deep in thought about how to go about finding a way to locate his enemy), but he felt it would have been rude to turn them down, and anyway, it couldn't hurt to do them a favor. Likewise, he reasoned, as long as he remained vigilant, keeping aware of his surroundings and look for anything that could help him track the monster, and made sure to keep his voice barely a whisper, it couldn't hurt to do this to keep himself calm.

"_Zitto, bambino, l'oscurità sorgerà, e di portare giù nel sonno," _he began, his normally silky voice coming out slightly cracked from how dry his mouth still was. _"Bambino, l'ocsurità sorgerà, e di portare giù nel sonno."_

As he sang, he remembered the last time he had sung this. He barely remembered the managers' reactions, they had seemed unimportant. However, he had to admit that he had been paying more attention to Jacqueline and Alia. Alia had had no qualms about watching in plain view of him. They were friends, he thought, and she was completely comfortable around him. Jacqueline, unlike her friend, had been somewhat skittish around him, trying not to make eye contact and fidgeting around as if she were uncomfortable in his presence, though for some reason didn't want to leave it. It had seemed strange to him, and he had the irritating feeling that he should know why she acted that way but he didn't. He made a mental note to ask Gabriel about it later.

It seems a bit morbidly funny to him that apparently none of them listening had understood Italian, and from the way he was singing probably thought that he was singing something sweet and pretty. Internally, he smirked as the translation ran through his mind, and he wondered what they would have thought if they only knew exactly what he had been singing so pleasantly.

"_Zitto, bambino, l'oscurità sorgerà dal profondo, e di portare nel sonno; bambino, l'oscurità sorgerà dal profondo, e di portare nel sonno."_

_Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep, and carry you down into sleep; child, the darkness will rise from the deep, and carry you down into sleep…_

"_Un figlio innocente, la mia vita è solo questo; ho sempre saputo il Fantasma è un ladro…"_

_Guileless son, my life is this alone; I always knew that the Phantom's a thief…_

"…_Ora capisco la causa del mio dolore, e ho sempre seguito le voci sotto."_

…_Now I understand the cause of my grief, and I always follow the voices beneath._

Fabien continued on, his confidence gradually returning to him as he quietly reminded himself of his purpose. He clenched the knife tighter in his hand as he went on.

"_Promessa di ucciderlo, promessa di ucciderlo, promessa di ucciderlo - So che lo farò!"_

_Promise to kill him, promise to kill him, promise to kill him – Know that I will!_

"_Un figlio innocente, il mio cuore lo odia: l'assassino maledetto che ha preso mio padre."_

_A guileless son, my heart hates him: the damned murderer who took my father._

"_E io lo punirà per ogni peccato, perché io sono l'ultimo vendicatore!"_

_And I will punish him for every sin, for I am the ultimate revenger!_

Fabien was now moving noticeably faster, and he could feel his composure slipping slightly, but he didn't care. He held the hilt of the knife in so tight a grip that his knuckles had turned white and his fingers were starting to hurt. He felt like he did during a particularly vigorous training session: ready to plunge the knife into his enemy's flesh, to force in the blade until it disappeared into the man's body, to twist it slowly just to make his defeat more painful, to watch with dark satisfaction as his lifeblood flowed from him until he was dead, and could never harm anyone ever again. Fabien felt himself shiver as he imagined it, wanting it to become real so badly.

"_Promessa di ucciderlo, promessa di ucciderlo, promessa di ucciderlo - So che lo farò!"_

_Promise to kill him, promise to kill him, promise to kill him – Know that I will!_

"_Zitto, bambino, l'oscurità sorgerà dal profondo, e di portare nel sonno; bambino, l'oscurità sorgerà dal profondo, e di portare nel sonno."_

_Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep, and carry you down into sleep; child, the darkness will rise from the deep, and carry you down into sleep…_

"_Un figlio innocente, ogni giorno che passa, la mia vendetta è più vicino."_

_A guileless son, with each passing day, my vengeance is nearer._

"_Non importa cosa, io sarò il suo fine – anche se dovessi morire con lui!" _

_No matter what, I will be his end – even if I must die with him!_

The more Fabien thought of it, the clearer it became to him that there was nothing, nothing else in the world, that he wanted more than to deliver retribution to the Phantom for the deaths of his father, and the no doubt countless others he had killed. Often, it felt like that was all that mattered, like it was the one thing in his life that was worth doing. At those times – which was most times – Fabien felt his hatred for the man burn in his heart and sear his body from the inside.

"_Promessa di ucciderlo, promessa di ucciderlo, promessa di ucciderlo - So che lo farò!"_

_Promise to kill him, promise to kill him, promise to kill him – Know that I will!_

"_Zitto, bambino, l'oscurità sorgerà dal profondo, e di portare nel sonno; bambino, l'oscurità sorgerà dal profondo, e di portare nel sonno."_

_Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep, and carry you down into sleep; child, the darkness will rise from the deep, and carry you down into sleep…_

Fabien finished the song, his confidence returning to him and renewed anger burning inside him. Now more than before he was seeking an outlet for it, and he quickened his step and resolved to put every bit of his effort into his mission. His mind now completely devoid of fear and entirely focused, Fabien turned a corner, venturing deeper into the bowels of the opera house. He imagined the Phantom, who was down below this place somewhere, living in relative comfort, Fabien reasoned, from the amount of money the managers were forced to pay him – and living free of consequence for the sins he had committed. It made Fabien's stomach turn. He _had _to rid the world of this creature. There was no other option.

_One day, _Fabien thought angrily, _one day I will make you answer for everything. I will give you pain to match all the pain you have inflicted and every bit of damage you have caused. I don't think I'd mind taking that apprentice of yours' life before finishing you, though; you probably care about him, don't you? You're going to regret everything you've ever done when I'm through with you, Phantom. Just wait for me. I'm coming for you._

~0~

"Not bad, girls," said Meg approvingly, after about forty-five minutes of practice. "Plenty of room for improvement, but not bad at all. You may go."

The chorus girls immediately scattered; Alia and Jacqueline making their way over to Gabriel, who had not left and was beckoning them over. Although she had pulled herself together during rehearsal and done a fine job, Jacqueline was now in quite the emotional state over how badly she thought she had done.

"That was just awful," she complained, "Why did I have to do so badly?" Alia thought her moaning strange, as Jacqueline was normally very confident in her dancing skill, but she suspected that it had something to do with Fabien watching her show it. Alia found this annoyingly unreasonable.

"Oh, pull yourself together," she said firmly as they reached Gabriel. "You did perfectly fine."

"But I was constantly getting off balance, missing every other step – "

"Come now, Jacqueline," Gabriel said comfortingly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous, you were the best dancer of all of them. No offense, Alia," he added after a moment.

Alia shook her head. "None taken, you're absolutely right."

Jacqueline's cheeks had gone slightly pink, and she seemed to have finally gotten it into her head that she hadn't performed as poorly as she had thought. "You think so?" At Alia and Gabriel's enthusiastic nods, she smiled. "Well, now that you mention it, I did fairly well, didn't I?"

"On the contrary, Miss Giry," came a silky Italian voice from behind them, "you were exceptional. Like Gabriel said, the best."

Upon meeting Fabien's eyes, Jacqueline's jaw dropped, her eyes widened considerably, and she turned the deepest shade of red Alia had ever seen. "Oh…" she said faintly, seeming unsure of whether to maintain eye contact with him or look away, "…Th-thank you…Fabien…"

She looked as though she would try to say something more, but at that moment her father, Claude, called for her, with Dominic at his side gesturing to her and not even trying to hold back a smirk at what he saw. From the look in her eyes, Alia knew Jacqueline was incredibly glad to have a way to get out of her awkward situation without being rude. A second later, she bid them a too-hasty farewell and dashed off like a doe running from a wolf, leaving Fabien looking startled and bewildered. Alia tried not to laugh out loud at the expression of utter incomprehension on his face. Unable to figure it out for himself, Fabien turned to Alia and Gabriel for an explanation.

"Was it something I said?" he asked.

"No, no," they assured him.

"She just wasn't expecting praise," Gabriel said, knowing that Jacqueline wouldn't want him to reveal her affections for Fabien. "She was somewhat self-conscious about how she did just now. She thought she'd done badly, you see."

Fabien appeared to accept this as true, but he remained confused, his eyebrows rising even further at Gabriel's words. "Really? But how could she think so? She is so talented!"

_Jacqueline would probably faint if she heard him say that, _Alia thought. "Don't worry, she knows," she assured Fabien, "but she's always so worried about doing well." It wasn't even a lie, Alia reasoned, as Jacqueline did tend to fret over every little thing she might have done wrong.

"I see," said Fabien. "Anyway, I wanted to ask if you all were going to the masquerade ball."

"There's a masquerade coming up?" asked a surprised Alia.

"You didn't hear, 'Lia? It's a week from today. Apparently the managers want to celebrate the reopening," Gabriel explained to her.

"Yes, so do you think you'll come?" Fabien asked again. "I wanted to be sure you were. I'd enjoy it more if you were there with me."

"Well, I've already told my father, and he said I could go," Gabriel said. "Will you, 'Lia?"

"Of course I will!" Alia assured them excitedly. "I'd have to ask my parents, but I'm sure they'll agree."

"Good!" said Fabien, sounding considerably happier. "And Alia…would you please ask Miss Giry if she'll be there as well? And…tell her that I thought she performs excellently…and that she shouldn't worry so much about it," he added, somewhat shyly, Alia noticed.

Alia smiled. "I'll tell her, Fabien."

"Thank you," he said, and his eyes looked somewhat brighter.

"No problem," replied Alia. "This is going to be fun!" She and Gabriel exchanged a small smile. Alia was already imagining the evening a week from now, and she could hardly wait.

~0~

The booming of the organ reverberated throughout the empty lair as Erik played. As his skillful fingers moved deftly across the keys, he remembered that this particular piece was one of Luc's favorites, and he usually liked to be around to hear it. Erik hoped that he'd come home soon, but Luc normally spent an hour at least watching the goings-on of the opera house, as the novelty of the open and busy place had not worn off yet. However, Erik had to wonder if Luc stayed so long to watch his favorite chorus girl: Alia de Chagny.

Erik was still reeling from the discovery that Christine had had a daughter. True, he had often imagined Christine and her Vicomte happy with one another – albeit considerably less often since he had taken in Luc – but somehow it had never crossed his mind that they might have children. Actually seeing Alia for the first time was quite the shock for him as well. It amazed him how much she physically resembled her mother while still recognizable as her own person.

He would prefer to overlook the knowledge of where her bright blue eyes came from, however. It surprised Erik slightly that he did not hate the girl, the living proof of his love's affection for another man. It would be natural for him to do so, he thought. But he couldn't hate her; she was Christine's daughter. Besides, it was not the girl's fault she had the fop for a father. He would not hold her unfortunate parentage against her. Rather, he looked forward to seeing her do well here. He had considered giving her a special bit of assistance, as he had done for her mother, but he had decided against it and would allow her to hone her talents and likely excel as a performer on her own. Erik smiled, already feeling glimmers of pride and pleasure as he pictured it. Yes, he would look forward to it very much. And as he detected the almost imperceptible clicking of boots approaching the lair, he thought of somebody who would anticipate it even more.

"Welcome back, Luc," he greeted the boy, who Erik noticed was trying to suppress a gleeful grin. Erik stopped playing for a moment and turned to face him. "What's got you so happy?"

"I was listening to Alia talk with her friends," Luc replied, "and the Giudicelli boy mentioned the masquerade ball."

Erik raised an eyebrow. He and Luc had already known about this, why was it suddenly so exciting to him? "And?"

"Well, I was…I was wondering…" Luc hesitated, suddenly awkward and not meeting Erik's eyes. "…I wanted to know if I could go," Luc said quickly.

"What?" Erik certainly hadn't expected that. "Luc…What exactly do you mean by that?"

"I…" Luc's visible cheek was steadily turning red. "I don't mean the way you think…Nobody would see me, I just want to go and watch, the way I watch their rehearsals…But if you don't think I should, then I'll stay down here instead…"

As Luc trailed off, there was silence between the two for a minute while Erik deliberated. He was worried about Luc's safety, but he had been going to watch the rehearsals for weeks without any problem, and Luc wasn't foolish or incompetent enough to get himself seen or hurt. And Luc had never seen anything like a masquerade ball before, and Erik didn't want to deprive him of seeing one for himself, knowing how much he would love it. He decided to trust his brother.

"You may go, Luc," Erik said, and Luc's eyes immediately snapped up and he stared at Erik.

"Really? You don't mind?"

"No," Erik assured him. "Go if you'd like, but make sure _you_ _are careful," _he added firmly.

"Don't worry, Erik, I promise I will! Thank you!" Luc said, sounding so much like an ecstatic child that Erik had to smile.

"You're welcome, _jeune loup,_" he replied. "I think that you'll enjoy this very much."

**~0~**

**Kaen: FINALLY I UPDATE THIS. I am so sorry for waiting this long! I promise, I'll be trying to update this regularly now.**

**All: YES! **_***fistpump***_

**Kaen: First off, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and put this story on alert. Internet cookies for you all!**

**Gabriel: I've got it! **_***goes about delivering cookies***_

**Kaen: Thank you, Gabriel. Now…Luc, I have to thank you for your review-attracting-gimmick suggestion. It worked very well.**

**Luc: **_***self-satisfied smirk***_

**Raoul: **_***still tied up in chair***_** So were all the phangirls clamoring for my hair to be chopped off?**

**Erik: **_***playing with his straight razor***_** Just tell us yes, I'm growing impatient.**

**Kaen: Actually, no. I'm as surprised as you are, but the reviewers wanted to save Raoul from his haircut.**

**Raoul: **_***happily* **_**Really?**

**Erik: **_***outraged* **_**REALLY?! After all the complaints about his stupid hair in the movie, now when I offer to change it nobody wants it to look better? **

**Kaen: **_***shrugs* **_**I guess not. And in hindsight, it's really not that bad.**

**Raoul: THANK you. Now can I go?**

**Kaen: Sure. Erik?**

**Erik: Grr…Fine. **_***slices the ropes with the razor***_

**Kaen: And anyway, Raoul is now Hadley Fraser, so he has nice short hair anyway. **

**Erik: So I wouldn't have been able to attack him with a razor anyway?**

**Kaen: No. But don't be too disappointed, Erik…you might still get your wish. Raoul, 'Lia, you listen up too, this concerns you.**

**Raoul: We're listening.**

**Erik: Elucidate, please.**

**Kaen: Well, none of the reviewers wanted Raoul to get a haircut, but a couple suggested that someone else should – namely, Philippe.**

**Raoul: Philippe? Really?**

**Kaen: **_***nods***_** Mm-hm. I recently went to a performance of the Kopit version, and Philippe's hair didn't look too bad there, but I've seen some other pictures of him from the versions he's in, and oh, GOD, it's way more foppish than movie-Raoul's. **

**Erik: So…they want him to get the razor instead of Monsieur le Fop here? I can do that.**

**Raoul: Me too! **_***fistpump***_

**Alia: …You're still angry about how they replaced you with him in the Kopit/Yeston version, aren't you?**

**Raoul: Of course I am! **_***eyes blaze***_

**Philippe: **_***blithely walks in* **_**Hello, everyone! Raoul, I was thinking of getting a crew cut, what do you think?**

**Raoul: PHILIPPE! **_***to Erik* **_**I'll hold, you cut!**

**Alia: Um, Uncle Philippe, I think you'd better run!**

**Raoul: **_***charges and tackles Philippe* **_**This is for replacing me, you jerk!**

**Philippe: But that wasn't my - ! **_***is cut off as Erik tackles him with an electric razor***_

**Kaen: **_***raises eyebrows in mild surprise***_** Well…at least he wanted short hair. Hey, Fabien…What are you doing on my computer?**

**Fabien: **_***reading reviews* **_**I like these…My name is spelled right…Philippe's a pasta-hating jerk? Hmm…Kaen, your Hetalia-loving friends once said that you were Italy. Should we be taking offense to this hatred of pasta?**

**Kaen: I might say 'yes,' but it looks like Philippe is having enough trouble with these two. Let's spare him any more. Raoul! Erik! I think that's enough!**

**Raoul&Erik: **_***get off of Philippe and allow him to get up. His hair is not about half an inch long***_

**Philippe: **_***brushes himself off* **_**Well…not exactly the response I was expecting, but – **_***runs hand through hair* **_**- not a bad job. I guess…thanks?**

**Raoul: **_***still visibly irritated, makes canine 'wruff' sound***_

**Erik: **_***twirls straight razor* **_**You're quite welcome.**

**Philippe: Well, I'll be going now. **_***leaves* **_

**Kaen: All right, now that that's over, there's just a few more things. The song Fabien sang was "Mordred's Lullaby" by Heather Dale, translated into Italian and altered a bit to fit the rhythm. **

**Link (if it shows up, remove the spaces): : / / w w w . ? v = **

**Gabriel: Zira's Lullaby, Mordred's Lullaby…Fabien's just got the screwed-up lullaby thing going on there, doesn't he?**

**Kaen: Yeah, I only noticed halfway through writing that part. Anyway, I'm thinking of making "Silence" from the video game Shadow of the Colossus Luc's theme, but I'm not sure yet.**

**Link: : / / w w w . ? v = A**

**Kaen: And Alia's theme is also from Shadow of the Colossus, "The Sunlit Earth." I can imagine her dancing to it.**

**Link: : / / w w w . ? v = E**

**Kaen: So…I think that's all I wanted to say. And that means…I can update this chapter now! Yes!**

**R&R?**


	8. Masquerade

Alia gave her head a little shake, letting her meticulously combed hair fall neatly down onto her shoulders. She smiled into the mirror, pleased with her success. It was the night of the masquerade, and after almost an hour of effort she finally looked perfect for it. Alia got up from her vanity and, though feeling a bit silly doing it, twirled a little in front of the mirror to admire her new dress, and reminded herself to thank her mother again at some point for helping her pick it out. This was going to be a wonderful night!

A soft mewing came from the corner, and Alia turned to see her two cats, Glace and Cristal, looking at her curiously from their cushions, probably wondering why their owner was so unusually excited. Alia smiled and hurried over to say goodbye to them.

"I'm leaving now," she said, scratching their ears. "So you two be good while I'm gone, all right?"

The cats purred contently in response, and Alia giggled. "I'll see you later tonight." As she headed for the door, Glace settled back down on his bed, but Cristal, always unhappy to see Alia leave, ran after her, rubbed up against her leg, and when Alia stopped she meowed endearingly in an attempt to make her stay. Alia, bending down to pet her some more, said, "I'll give you both an extra piece of salmon when I get home, okay?"

Cristal seemed to deem this acceptable, and ran back to her bed to lie down next to Glace, as Alia headed eagerly out the door and down to the first floor, where her parents were waiting.

Maman smiled at Alia as she came down the stairs, beaming. "You look beautiful, darling," she said, putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

"Thank you, Maman," Alia said, before turning to her father. "Papa, what do you think?"

"Lovely, 'Lia," Papa said, though he still didn't look very enthusiastic. Alia heaved a sigh. Was he still uneasy about her being at the masquerade? She understood that her father was protective of his only child, but did he always have to act like this anytime she was out of his sight?

"Papa, we talked about this," she said wearily. "I'll be okay. It's just a party, and my friends will be with me the entire time."

"I know, Alia, I know," Papa muttered, not sounded convinced at all.

"Just stop worrying and enjoy it," Alia suggested, smiling to try and help. "You and Maman are coming too, remember."

Papa looked like he might say something else, but at that moment a servant came in and informed them that the Giry twins had arrived – their parents had opted to stay home together, and arrangements had been made for them to go with Alia and her parents instead - and Alia bolted to the door to greet her friends.

"Oh, 'Lia, you look gorgeous!" squealed Jacqueline, rushing over to her.

"Thanks, Jacqueline," Alia said, smiling. "You look beautiful, too!" Jacqueline had chosen a more elaborate hairstyle and more elegant dress than Alia, and looked positively stunning.

"You really think so?" Jacqueline asked, cocking her head slightly to one side. "Because I wasn't sure about – "

"No, no worries," Alia said quickly, putting a finger in front of Jacqueline's lips to stop any misgivings about her appearance. "You look lovely; now don't give it a second thought."

"Yes, I'm fairly certain Signior Giudicelli will approve of your fashion choices," Dominic teased as he sauntered in, making Jacqueline yelp indignantly and Alia giggle. Once her brother had found out about her affections for Fabien, he had found it extremely funny and enjoyed poking fun at her about it. Dominic smirked. "Well, let's not keep your man waiting. If we leave now, we'll be right on time. Unless you two want to be fashionably late?"

"No, thank you! I've been waiting for this all week!" Alia said. "Let's get going!"

With that, she and Jacqueline hurried for the front doors and to her father's carriage, with Dominic striding along just behind them, chuckling.

~0~

As she and Raoul followed Dominic and the girls, Christine had to resist sighing like her daughter at Raoul's still-nervous expression. He was usually a little uneasy every time Alia went out – she and Alia had gotten somewhat used to it by now – but this time it seemed to be worse than usual, and she wasn't altogether sure why.

"Raoul?" she asked softly. "What's wrong?"

"You know how I feel about these things, Christine," he said, sounding harried. "I just don't like anyplace she might be – "

"Out of your sight?"

"I was going to say hurt," muttered Raoul. "Or anything else. I just don't like having to think about the things that could happen to her, especially here."

"Raoul, we'll be there the whole time, and so will her friends," Christine repeated Alia's words. "Compared to most other places she goes, this is probably one of the safest. You'll be able to be where she is the whole time, and if you're not nearby Dominic or Gabriel will keep an eye on her." She thought that would help; of all Alia's friends, Raoul trusted Dominic most – and was beginning to trust Gabriel more - with her safety. However, he looked only a little calmer.

"I know that," he said. "I just…" He hesitated, and then turned to meet Christine's eyes. "I just have a bad feeling about this. I don't want anything to happen to her. Especially after…"

"What? What is it?" Christine prodded.

"After what happened last time," Raoul said quietly, sounding as though he had been reluctant to admit it. "After what…happened with _him." _

_Oh, _thought Christine, understanding. _So that's what's bothering him. _"Raoul," she began, as soothingly as she could. "You know it's not like that anymore. He's kept his promises up to now: he hasn't so much as threatened anybody, and he wouldn't go near Alia. It's all right now."

Raoul's eyes narrowed. "He is not a man to trust, Christine," he muttered, a trace of anger showing in his voice. "I don't entirely believe anything he's said, and I wouldn't put anything past him. And besides, there are plenty of other things that could happen to her even if none of them involve him."

Again, Christine resisted the urge to sigh. "What exactly do you expect to happen?"

"Anything and everything," Raoul immediately replied. "I just have a bad feeling that _something_ will happen."

"Don't worry about her, Raoul," Christine said calmingly. "She'll be just fine. Like I said, you can keep an eye on her while we're there, and even if you're not watching her, you know Gabriel would never let anything happen to her."

Raoul's fears didn't seem to have been completely eased by her words, but they had left the manor by now, and when he saw Alia, grinning and laughing with the Giry twins and their mother, he couldn't resist a small smile too.

"Ready to go, Alia?" he called to her, putting on a cheerful face and letting no trace of nervousness remain in his voice. He was rewarded with a truly delighted expression on his daughter's face, as she obviously thought he had recovered from whatever had been bothering him. Christine knew his worries were still there, but Alia didn't. However, that wasn't too bad, Christine reasoned as she climbed into the last remaining seat in the carriage and Raoul, in the driver's seat, took the reins and started the horses.

_It's not much progress, _she thought as they made their way to the opera house, _but it'll be enough for one night…I hope._

~0~

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair worriedly, mussing his formerly well-groomed hair even further. He was here, but she wasn't yet…What time was it? He yanked his pocket watch out from the inside of his jacket and flipped it open. Oh…It was only five minutes to nine. Gabriel closed his eyes and sighed. _Just because she doesn't always come early like you, doesn't mean she's not coming, _he had to remind himself. Gabriel wondered about why he had gotten so nervous about the prospect of Alia not being there. His father had dropped him off fifteen minutes early, and none of his other friends were here yet, but for some reason that didn't bother him at all…only her absence did. It was strange to Gabriel – he didn't quite grasp the reason for it, and yet he felt that he should…

He didn't notice the rattle of the carriage wheels on the cobblestones, as the sound of arriving guests was all around him, but the sudden call of his name make his head snap instantly up. Eyes wide with anticipation, he glanced around like a startled animal for the source, and a smile spread across his face when his eyes lit upon hers. A chill ran through his body as he watched her get out of her father's carriage, followed by the Giry twins, and rush towards him – so beautiful, even more so than usual tonight – and he, ecstatic now that he saw her, went quickly to meet her.

As Alia reached him and made to hug him, Gabriel, in a moment of sheer excitement, wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off the ground, and spun her around once. When he put her down in front of him, his smile grew wider when he saw she was giggling happily.

"Well, someone's excited," Jacqueline remarked, coming to the pair's side.

"Now that Alia and the rest of us are here," added Dominic, passing them by with a wave and heading for the entrance. "I'm going in before all the other chorus girls are too busy to notice me. Jacqueline, you might want to go and find your redhead before he becomes occupied with somebody else." Ignoring the scandalized noises his sister was making, Dominic gave a wink at Alia and Gabriel and then sauntered into the opera house. Opting not to glare daggers at her brother's back, Jacqueline smiled at the pair to try and show that his remark hadn't affected her in the least, and gave a little giggle, but it was clear she was nervous; though Gabriel couldn't be sure whether it was about Fabien giving his affections to another girl or the idea of approaching him to keep this from happening in the first place.

"Fabien's not here yet," he informed her. "I checked to see if he was already." _Yes, _he thought with some bitterness, _checked to make sure he wasn't sneaking down in the tunnels alone again. _"No need to worry about it just yet," he said to Jacqueline, hoping nothing in his voice or face betrayed his own worry for his friend.

Jacqueline's face visibly relaxed, to Gabriel's satisfaction. "Oh," she said, relieved. "...Thank you, Gabriel. Well…should we go in, then?"

"I think that would be a good idea," said Alia's mother, smiling at the three of them as she approached.

"Yes, I agree," said her father dryly, following close behind and shooting an 'I told you so' glance at his wife, whose cheerful expression faltered slightly. His glare then turned to Gabriel, who was immediately worried – he knew that the Vicomte wasn't someone you wanted angry with you – and wondered what the problem was. Then he realized that his arm was still wrapped around Alia's shoulders, and everything Alia had told him about her father's overprotectiveness came back to him. _Oh, _he thought, understanding. His friendly embrace probably didn't look so friendly to the Vicomte, and that glare was telling him _"Take your hands off my daughter before I take them off of you." _ Gabriel quickly dropped his arms to his sides, earning himself a nod of something resembling approval from the Vicomte and the glare softened into a more neutral expression. Alia looked like she wanted to say something to her father, but opted not to, probably wanting to avoid an unnecessary argument.

"Don't worry about him, Gabriel," she whispered to him, so nobody but him could hear. "Papa's just being protective." Then, louder, to everyone – "Come on, let's not wait any longer." She took Gabriel's hand and, with Jacqueline accompanying them, they headed past her parents and towards the entrance to the opera house. Gabriel felt a rush of delight run through him as her fingers brushed against his, and even though it had barely begun, he had a feeling that this would be the best night he'd had in a long time.

~0~

Having been deprived of beauty and magnificence for most of his childhood, Luc had developed a profound appreciation for both. Because of this, he was enjoying the spectacular scene he overlooked from a hiding place high above it even more than he had thought he would. The masquerade was unlike anything he had ever seen before in his life, and he took in every little thing there was to see and hear eagerly. The always-pristine entrance hall was now positively sparkling as part of the largely successful efforts to make the opera house look its best for the occasion. All of the different costumes Luc saw as the guests poured in amazed him, and the brightest and showiest of them caught his eye over and over. More than this, however, Luc loved the atmosphere of the place. Everyone was just so happy – smiling and laughing and dancing, and just enjoying themselves in general. It made Luc feel nice just watching the party, even if he couldn't be a part of it. It felt as if he were watching a new performance of some kind.

Surprisingly, Luc hadn't been watching out for anyone in particular up to that point, as the masquerade itself had enthralled him so. However, when he happened to see a noticeably exquisite pale gold dress and party mask, and saw that they belonged to Jacqueline Giry, his mind immediately connected her with her best friend: _"If Jacqueline's here," _he thought excitedly, _"then Alia will be here soon too!"_

Luc began to scan the spacious room from his bird's-eye view to see if he could spot her or her friends or parents. There was Jacqueline's twin, Dominic, over on the opposite side of the room – his bright shock of blond hair was combed back for a change, and he was trying to flirt with one of the ballerinas. He clearly thought he was being witty and charming, judging from the look on his face, but the girl appeared to Luc as though she thought he was a joke. He snickered, wondering how long it would take Dominic to catch on, and kept looking. Fabien Giudicelli had just arrived, looking just as disinterested with the party as Luc was with him, though he did wonder why Jacqueline squeaked and hurried into another room as soon as she caught sight of him. _Is she frightened of him? _Luc thought, puzzled. He couldn't see why; Fabien was reserved and somewhat cold, but he didn't seem the type to hurt or be cruel to anyone. Dismissing it, Luc's eyes roved around the entrance hall for another moment, back and forth over every face, looking carefully, until –

_Ohhh…_ Luc couldn't hold back a soft sound of surprise when Alia entered the room. She was just so beautiful…even more so tonight than usual after she'd made an effort to look nicer. He looked her over again and again, marveling at her. She was dressed in a bright, rich blue gown, and an elegant silver necklace glinted from around her neck…Luc liked that, blue and silver always seemed to complement Alia. She'd spent time carefully styling her hair, he saw, into a more intricate style than its usual wavy curtain. _A job well done, _Luc thought, it looked lovely. And, more importantly, she looked thrilled to be here. Her bright smile made Luc feel warm inside when he saw it.

Never mind that he couldn't know her, never mind that the Renard boy – who made something inside Luc twinge unpleasantly each time he saw him with Alia – was accompanying her (and from what Luc could see, looking to share a dance with her) instead. Alia was clearly very happy. And if she was happy, it made Luc happy to see it as well. Adjusting himself slightly in his hiding place to get a better view, he kept his eyes locked on Alia, no longer watching anyone else. A smile was spreading across his face, one to rival Alia's. He promised himself that when he went back home, he would thank Erik profusely for letting him come. Just watching Alia dance gracefully across the room, looking so gorgeous, with that bright, beautiful expression…this was perfect.

~0~

After almost ten minutes of keeping it back, Christine let out a small noise of irritation. She wasn't one to beg for attention, but couldn't Raoul focus on her instead of Alia and Gabriel for five seconds? Just because Gabriel had put his arm around Alia's shoulders before was no reason for him to spend the rest of the party watching them like a hawk. Saying his name quietly, she cupped his face and gently turned him back to face her. On seeing her exasperated expression, Raoul sighed a little, knowing exactly what had caused it.

"I'm sorry, Christine," he said in a low voice. "I only want to be certain that – "

"Alia's all right?" Christine finished, and Raoul nodded. "I understand; I want to know she's safe as much as you do. But she'll be just fine even without you watching her all the time."

"I know, I know," he said somewhat dismissively. "But there's just something I can't ignore…"

He was glaring behind them again, and Christine didn't have to look to know who he had his eyes on. "Raoul," she began. "There's no need for that. She and Gabriel aren't doing anything wrong…not even by your standards."

"Not yet, at least," Raoul said darkly, glowering at the dancing teenagers behind him, blissfully unaware of his glaring at them.

"They're just friends," Christine said, beginning to find his suspicions partly amusing and partly irritating.

"So were we," Raoul countered, turning back to her, raising an eyebrow as though daring her to find a way to deny that.

"Raoul," Christine admonished. "Sharing one friendly dance doesn't mean they've suddenly started to have feelings for each other. Look at them…" She gestured at Alia and Gabriel, unlike Raoul trying to be subtle about it so they didn't notice. Not that the pair looked like they would notice anything anyway. They were smiling and laughing nonstop as they danced, wrapped up in each other, but even Raoul would have to admit that there was nothing romantic between them.

"They're just close friends sharing a good time at a party," Christine said. "I think it should be okay to leave them alone for a little while to do that. Don't you?"

Raoul didn't look completely convinced, but he nodded, seeing his wife's point. "If you say so," he muttered concededly.

"Just let them enjoy themselves for the night," she said, smiling. "She'll be perfectly fine."

Raoul took a deep breath, and then said, "I suppose so." Then, as if a nice thought had just occurred to him, a playful grin lit his features, surprising Christine. "And speaking of that," he said, sounding much less harried and much lighter and easier, "I believe I've been keeping us from enjoying ourselves for the past while. I'm sorry."

"That's all right," said Christine. She was just happy at having apparently gotten through to him.

"Now," he said, moving them both into a better dancing position. "May I have this dance, _ma belle?_"

"Of course," she replied, delighted. As they waltzed across the room among all the other couples, Christine wondered if Raoul was thinking of the masquerade of sixteen years ago. He had proposed to her just the day before, she remembered, and attending the masquerade together had been the first thing they'd done as an engaged couple. She'd been afraid of what Erik would do if he found out – and with good reason, she thought bitterly – but Raoul had tried his best to ease her fears, and as they danced together, all her worries had faded, leaving only the joy of sharing those moments with the man she loved. Together with him now, she felt that same joy all over again.

At that moment, Alia and Gabriel moved close to them. As they passed, Alia smiled at her parents, looking like she was having the time of her life. They both returned the grin, Raoul deliberately ignoring an equally-happy Gabriel, seemingly feeling better about them together now that he saw how much his daughter was enjoying herself up close. Just before she and her partner moved away again, Alia mouthed, _'Thank you!', _to them both – for letting her come tonight, Christine guessed, despite her father's misgivings. Right then, she was as pleased as Alia to be here, and she knew Raoul was as well. _I hope this never ends, _she found herself thinking. _I hope the three of us can always be happy with the people we love, no matter what._

~0~

Alia clinked the glass of water Gabriel had brought her with his, and she sipped down the drink earnestly. The masquerade was one of the most enjoyable things she and her friends had ever done. Though she was shy and quiet, she did still like parties. But after about an hour or so, it began to get a little too overwhelming, and left Alia in need of a short break. Gulping down the last drops of water, she turned to Gabriel, hoping he wouldn't be offended by her request.

"Gabriel?" she asked, and he turned to her. "I'm getting a bit tired – would you mind if I took a few minutes to myself?"

"Of course not. I know how these things get to you," Gabriel said understandingly, and Alia guessed he was remembering when they were children and she had gotten overly anxious even being around a crowd. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured him as he took her empty glass. "I just need a little fresh air, that's all. I think I'll just go up to the roof for a while." Her mother had told her quite a few times about how she and Papa had shared their first romantic moment up there, and as far as she knew people were still allowed to go up. "I'll be back in ten minutes, twenty at the most," she told Gabriel.

"What if your father notices you're not here?" Gabriel's brow furrowed. "What am I going to tell him? I don't particularly want to have him irritated with me."

"Tell him…" Alia thought a moment. "Tell him that I just needed to step out for a few minutes, and if I'm not back when I said I would be, you'll go looking for me."

Gabriel nodded, satisfied. "I'd have done that anyway. I think that should do."

"Thank you, Gabriel," Alia said as she started to go. "I'll be back soon."

~0~

The closer Alia got to the stairs that led to the roof, the better she felt as the rooms and halls grew emptier and quieter. She found herself letting out a sigh of relief at the welcome calm. She loved being with her friends and family, but sometimes she just felt better by herself. Besides, Alia had never been up on the roof before, as her mother had only pointed out where the stairs up to it were and hadn't had time to actually take her up and show her, and she was curious.

Alia reached the metal spiral staircase and hurried up eagerly. A soft gust of cool air greeted her as she pushed open the door at the top and stepped out onto the stone floor, slowing down to look around better. She found the statues that dotted the place nice-looking, but what truly captured her attention was the view. _Amazing, _she thought as she gazed out past the edge. She could see a huge expanse of the city from here, looking different and intriguing in the moonlight. She looked up to the clear night sky, admiring the bright full moon and the thousands of stars. She rarely saw them this well from home, as the trees obscured the sight. It was so pretty tonight, Alia thought – countless spots of shining silver against a backdrop of deepest black. A small, content smile appeared on her face as she took it all in.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Alia spun around, startled at finding out she was not alone as she had thought, and found herself looking into the dark eyes of a boy with a black mask.

~0~

**Kaen: Ha! Finished!**

**Luc: **_***nonchalantly* **_**So in your mind, updating "regularly," means posting a new chapter three months after you said that?**

**Kaen: Hey, I'm doing the best I can! It's winter break, so I could finally get this done. School's a b-**

**Raoul: Ah ah ah! Watch it in front of Alia.**

**Alia: Never mind the schoolwork, let's just get the chapter up before anyone has to wait any longer!**

**Kaen: You're right. And I'll do my best to get the next one up as soon as I can! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and put my story on alert! You guys are great.**

**~0~**


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